100 Word Challenge

Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Xedanis » April 23rd, 2015, 6:49 pm

I can’t do this anymore.
5 words, burden released.

He got up from his desk. Picked up his jacket, his keys. Left his badge on the keyboard. Left the screen on so that they'd see the five words. Then he walked out.

He’d been a salesman, in many forms, for over a decade.
He’d bled himself dry of all dignity, self-respect, pride.

He’d hidden behind a mask.
How can I help you today?

He’d bitten his tongue.
Smile through the yelling.

He’d become a robot.
I’m sorry. It’s Policy. I’m sorry. It’s policy.

He’d quit.
Hell is better than here.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Vamane » April 26th, 2015, 11:13 pm

He became a hunter the day of the funeral.

Elvie and Braden were twins, even in death. Their coffins matched in brown laminate. A framed photograph of them alive, of them smiling, stood on a table near a vase of white roses.

"This is what their kind do, what their kind celebrate," his father said after the sermon, the two seated in the truck in the church lot.

"How many times does this got to happen to get it through your head?"

But it was there already, ingrained in him. The blood, the pain. No more, he thought. Never again.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Nemesis » April 27th, 2015, 10:48 pm

You broke her heart on so many levels. Devastation and despair prompting her to do dangerous, foolish things.

The physical things will heal. The bumps and the bruises.

But the inner scars will remain forever.

You took her love and used it against her. She wanted to help you so bad, only to lose herself in the midst of demons of your own design.

Now you're gone. She is suffering. Her heart is broken, the edges of her soul tattered and torn, threadbare and frayed. She's unraveling.

We are here to pick up the pieces, needle and thread in hand.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaenelle » May 11th, 2015, 7:31 am

This is your last chance.

You’ve had too many they said, too many chances, too many bad choices, too many missed opportunities.

You were given an ultimatum.

Or a choice, as they call it. They are all about the choice after all.

Your choice wasn't really a choice, which is why your here in this City.

This is the final turn, there can't be any missed opportunities or bad choices here.

You have to turn the tide, or you'll Fall.

Which is funny, because being here in this City, feeling what you’ve been feeling, you feel like you’ve already Fallen.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby ophelia » May 26th, 2015, 10:06 pm

Poison. If I had to choose mine, it would look like you, sound like you, smell like you. But you never were a choice, not really. I can feel the remnants of your unspoken words flowing through the molecules of my blood, only slowed by the missing brag of my heart. You fill my lungs and I find myself thankful that breathing is as unnecessary as an existence without you in it. You live beneath my skin and as you move through me, my muscles wake up with pinpricks of discomfort to remind me that you'll always be there. Always.



aslkdhf;ksd;kdkdkd I ALMOST had it saying what I wanted it to. GODDAMN it
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaida » May 28th, 2015, 1:48 am

Hell. Hell is waking up without a name. It’s being born without the gift of foresight. It’s wishing, day in and day out, that memories worked in reverse; that instead of seeing things that have already happened, it could be possible, somehow, to see things that have yet to come. It’s being the one person in the room that knows there’s a word for that: avenoir. It’s saying something that can’t be unsaid, and realizing it. It’s staring at the reflection in the mirror and being unable to recognize it. It’s existing, not living. That is truly what Hell is.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaida » May 28th, 2015, 1:58 am

“Hello,” said her name tag, an adhesive sticker clinging boldly to the breast pocket of her Plain Jane shirt. “My name is… Goddess.”
She has blonde hair and broad shoulders as she stands behind the cash register, and she has black hair and a chin cleft as she waits behind you in line. She tells her children to stop touching the shelves, and she walks only with her self-control to not look down the candy aisle. She talks too fast on her cellphone, and she doesn’t own one.
When you meet her, whoever she is, her name is Goddess.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaenelle » May 29th, 2015, 6:48 pm

I just...have no idea where this came from, but it needed out of my head. Don't judge. >.<

“How you doing love?”
Here we go, round two, fight.
Deep breath. Don’t punch him.
Be discreet. Quick glance. Flicker gaze beneath your lashes, avoid eye contact.
Hm. Not bad.
Actually, he looks familiar?
“Hi, I know you somehow, don’t I?”
“Well, I am a Prince.”
“Are you?” Here we go…
“Yeah, of the Fuggins.”
Huh. “You’re a Fuggin Prince?”
“The Mothers own.”
"So your THE Mother Fuggin Prince."
"The one and only."
"Yeah, that'll be why you look familiar."
Well, what d'ye know, looks like its The Mother Fuggin Prince wanting a drink with you.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby ophelia » June 2nd, 2015, 1:25 pm

You think if you try a little harder, things will get better.
You think if you drink a little more, the words will come easier.
You think if you drink a little less maybe you'd stop saying too much.
You think if you smile often enough you'll mean it 100% of the time.
You think if someone just looked at you, they'd understand.
You think if you just looked at someone, you'd understand.
You think if you stare long enough, the picture will change
You think if you try a little harder things will get better.
You think too much.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaenelle » June 4th, 2015, 6:35 am

They call them Soul Wounds.

Wounds that aren't visible on your body, at least not to the human eye, because they weren't skin deep, they were cuts that went much deeper.

Deeper than muscle or bone even, wounds so deep they touch that part of yourself your body tries to protect.

Soul Wounds will be with you forever, they may heal, but there will always be a scar left behind.

They aren't necessarily caused by weapons.

They can be caused by deeds.

Malicious deeds.

Malicious words.

Malicious intents.

Say, maybe like scars inflicted upon a body by a trained scalpel?
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Vamane » June 26th, 2015, 11:04 pm

I fell into lapses of sin at the scent of her skin. How’s that for poetics? I loved her, and her, and her; she on the subway, on the street, at the diner, and in the church. Women, always women; perfume on wrists, behind ears, on necks, rubbed into the texture of lotion-bathed skin. I loved since I could love, engrossed in the flavor of femininity. Their taste. Not sex, but the taste of words, actions, the sweet touch of hands, of hot lips. I wanted to kiss her again - and her, and her, and her. Women. I’ve relapsed again.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Kiia » June 26th, 2015, 11:16 pm

Friday.

The beginning of the short lazy days. Taking off your shoes, wearing your pajamas and eating to your heart's content because no one will see you at your job. It's time to hang out with your friends for more than two hours because your ass needs to be up at five a.m. at your shitty profession.

This isn't a normal Friday, however. You're donned in shined black dress shoes, ironed black slacks and a matching colored collared shirt with a purple tie. You watch as they lower the coffin down, rose thrown to join the mahogany.

Fridays are the worst.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Rose » June 27th, 2015, 3:31 pm

Cracking.

You know that sound anywhere. Your ears are finely tuned to hear it. Always straining, listening, waiting for the inevitable sound.

Then there's silence.

That still, dead air that chokes your throat until the figurative asphyxiation becomes real.

You can't speak, you can't breathe.

Your heart is pounding. It deafens you. Your limbs are locked in place from being anxiously tensed.

You fall into the void.

Like you have become nothing at all.

But that is not true, because every part of you is aware of the agony in your chest.

It is consuming you.

Nothing would be preferable.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby AlexAyres » June 30th, 2015, 7:22 pm

Marty Bington walked into his home after work and heard his wife’s yelling down the hall, he was sure she was being killed. When he walked in, he saw his neighbor lying on his back and Marty’s wife riding him like Clint Eastwood in a Western. Marty reached for the shotgun behind the dresser and took aim at his wife's back. "Fuck you, Doris!" he said as he fired. Doris turned around in time to watch her husband's skull become fragments on her favorite wallpaper, plastered with brains.

Doris stared at the wall blankly, “Hell..first time he didn’t shoot blanks!”
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Lachrymose » July 2nd, 2015, 3:53 pm

Dark. Devoid of life. Here in this place no light can remain; only the reaching tendrils of inky blackness seem to survive. For years the lifeless corpses of long past memories haunted every corner, seeping slowly into every crack. A constant cycle of whispered pains.

Flesh rots from bone and fills the air until breathing becomes unbearable. Oozing sores dripping puss form with each step taken; a living wound the thrums with the need to devour. Soundless steps follow and with them thousands of judgmental eyes. Darkness has consumed all and left only the truly rancid remains.

Welcome to paradise.
I am the monster you run from; the nightmare you fight and the demon from hell...you won't win.
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Bez potrzeby wymówka, gotowe oskarżenie. - A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaida » July 9th, 2015, 3:24 pm

[This is based on true events. The names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved, under the HIPAA Privacy Laws.]

“If he turns that television on one more time, I’m going to unplug the damn thing,” the nurse cursed.
When the loud static of the television echoed from the room, the aide was the first to respond instead.
“Mr. Lemming, your roommate is trying to sleep,” she said, but stopped short of the buzzing screen when she saw the remote control sitting on top of it, across the room from either of the two residents warm in their beds.
“How did you turn this on?” she asked, confused.
“I didn’t,” Mr. Lemming said. “The little boy under my bed did.”
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Jaenelle » July 10th, 2015, 5:10 pm

Playing around with an idea.

-------

They called her Porcelyn, because of her pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair.

Almost cliche.

But they also called her that because she sometimes resembled a doll, one that had been dressed prettily and then propped up in a chair. She would just sit there motionless, far-off look in her eyes, as if she was imagining herself somewhere off in the distance.

Not that you could blame her, not in this place, where people came to buy that which should never be sold.

"Up on the block, lot number 394. A beautiful young woman named like the doll, Porcelyn."
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Vamane » July 17th, 2015, 5:09 pm

In the process of conjuring up a new character ... here's the result.

————————————————————————————————


The fire consumed him, but he wouldn't burn. Hair and skin and flesh shined red, the floor beneath contorted to eventually cave in a black mess of ruined wood, the personality of a children's bedroom collapsing into the flames. His Teddy burned. Little cars melted. But not him, no. He didn't burn. Firemen found him outside the house, sat cross-legged clutching an old hound dog, its large head grounded in his lap. The parents were dead inside. They had burned. The house burned. Even the car, tons of heavy metal, had burned. But not the boy. He couldn't burn.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Vamane » July 17th, 2015, 5:41 pm

The local sheriff's department found a stolen truck today in the lake that's been missing since January. It strangely inspired me.

————————————————————————————————————————

The Sheriff's Department recovered their truck in the lake five months after Deputy Bandy had gone missing. Bandy still sat strapped in by seat belt, dressed in his uniform. And alive.

"How the hell do you think ... ?" The Sheriff stood aside with another deputy while Bandy was checked out by county EMS.

"I don't get it, sir. He shoulda been drowned," the deputy replied. "I swear, we drowned him."

It was a freak air pocket in the water, the sheriff decided. That was it.

But Bandy knew what happened. Bandy was dead. But the sheriff didn't need to know that.
.
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Re: 100 Word Challenge

Postby Amari » July 21st, 2015, 12:59 pm

Marlo wrote:Image

Amari had a story time moment.
Also Persian words (*) in order:
1: Good Luck 2: Mister

~~~~~~~~~~


"I need to speak to a human," He demanded.
It was too late for that, as he was bound in her world, his soul poisoned with Sins corruption too deep for cleansing. A familiar to Pride wiggling it's tendrils around its pray, a constrictor sealing the deal.

"*Mo'afagh bashid," she sneers, golden eyes piercing into the windows of his eyes. "You prayed for Me, then you Curse my name, *Aghaye."

"I curse not!"
"Ah, Aghaye, but you did. You lost your faith. You must retribute..."

Pride's tendrils squeeze, and Amari bites into his flesh; his heart bursts, devouring his soul.
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