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((I just never have time to sit down and come up with anything... and I'm too shy O.o  but I'll take a whack at this))


Prompt: Sadness


Creative Title: Blue


Word Count: 254


[SIZE=9.5pt]The hair was vibrant and as blue as the skies, and it cascaded around her shoulders like a waterfall. Eyes as warm and iridescent as the sun, they burned bright. She was laughter, she was grace, and she was beauty. Her laugh was music, her dance was a graceful rhythm, and her beautiful smile was life. She was color, her lips as red as a spring rose, eyes as green as summer’s leaves, skin as white as winter’s snow. On her back she held wings, she held possibility, promise. Like her eyes, she was the sun. So true, so lovely, so pure, and yet… her light was so easily extinguished. As graceful as a swan yet as fragile as glass. She wore her heart on her sleeve, shared her dreams and desires like a reflection, and trusted.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9.5pt]She is as [/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt]childish[/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt] as she was [/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt]gorgeous[/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt].[/SIZE]



[SIZE=9.5pt]It took one shadow for her colors to darken. Her laughter became the sound of a broken harp, her dance a hesitant pace, and her smile is a figment. She speaks softly, eyes downcast. There’s no confidence in her stride, no life in her eyes. She’s no longer warmth, but the clinging cold of an autumn night. That shadow corrupted her, ripped off her wings, chained her, and broke her. It changed her. Her lips are gray, eyes are dim, skin bleached, and her hair’s vibrancy is nevermore. Such magnificent blues are now painted by the faraway mountains in the horizons, overlooked and forgotten.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=9.5pt]She is drowning in that[/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt] blue[/SIZE][SIZE=9.5pt].[/SIZE]
 
Prompt: Sadness


Creative Title: Lovesick


Word Count: 315


She can't do this. She won't.


It's easy to push everyone away. In this space in the corner, her perception is completely filled with the cacophony of her own loud sobs and rattled breaths for air to soothe her lungs. Her skin is alarmingly hot, burning up with the intensity of her emotion. There's a reason they say grief can make someone ill. Homesick. Lovesick. Words that exist to describe the intensity of sorrow related to missing someone, or something.


Society would encourage her to wear a mask, since sadness is such a selfish, inappropriate emotion to broadcast twenty-four seven. But any hope of holding onto the old pieces of herself is gone. She cannot keep it together. Like an ancient city, she has been ravaged by time - unable to prevent destiny from unfolding, sentenced to experiencing enough pain to break her apart.


How does one pretend to be fine?


She is so betrayed by that very notion. So hurt. So angry. How dare they expect her to be fine?


Give a speech. Wear a nice dress. Cry at the funeral. Recover barely less than a week, or a month, or a year, or a decade later and date someone else. It was such a bullshit schedule, but people kept reminding her she couldn't hide from reality forever. If that was reality, she didn't want it.


She wanted to dream. She wanted to drown in the daydreams where he woke up.


But reality followed her there - she still drowned in her sleep - waking up to the tears swimming down her cheeks. The enduring, resilient sadness that stayed with her when everyone else left. When all other emotion left.


Wake up to reality and move on? 


She couldn't do that. She wouldn't.


Scattered stars spilled from her eyes, the liquid cosmos tracing a path in the dark, but their flaming trail had burned out her heart.
 
Aghsdjrfghukcompletelyforgotabotthissorrysorryishallrectifythesituationimmediately


Two really great ones here - tough choice! Both very metaphoric and descriptive. But... I think @WolfSol shall get this one. Congrats!
 
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It was late. So late in fact that the clock had rolled over into the new day, turning "late" into "early". He glared at the offensive device that was seeming to mock him with the new hour. He knew he should have gone to bed hours ago but he had been feeling as if the day just wasn't long enough.





 





That, or he was being left behind by time.





 





That was a scary thought, one that he tried to avoid. He didn't like being left behind in general and all of the sudden time was leaving him behind too?! He stomped on the thought and focused on the task at hand, glancing at the word count as he went.





 





He was going to regret this come his alarm going off.





 





He would probably be fine once it passed three.





 





Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, making it hard for him to focus on the screen before him. There was a reason why the clock was mocking him with the time. He hadn't been sleeping well the last few days - heck, could even be weeks for all he could remember - and it was catching up on him. He had tried quite a lot in an attempt to not be quite as exhausted but the one thing that would benefit him the most would be actually waking up later in the day. Work didn't start till the afternoon but a part of him still insisted waking up at 7. How could he not? The shift he worked make him feel unproductive with the rest of his day. He had a hard time doing anything when he got home and that included eating and he was already bad at making sure he kept himself fed.





 





 





He groaned, dropping his fingers from the keyboard. He lulled his head to the side, looking at the clock again. It seemed, at least, that at night time only got away from him when he was busy. Pity, really, because he seemed to be constantly busy. So much to do in so little time.





 





He straightened and rubbed a hand over his eyes, determination settling over his tired expression. He could do this. He just had to finish this one small thing and then he could go to bed. It wouldn't be much sleep but it would be enough.





 





He would still be exhausted.





 





Maybe he could catch up on sleep on Friday seeing as it was his day off.





 





Yeah, he had intended that for the previous Saturday and look where that had gotten him. Working well into the wee hours of the morning.





 
 
She stared at the mirror.The mirror stared back.
She stared because she wanted to stare.The mirror stared back because it had to stare back.
She raised her hand because she wanted to.The mirror raised its hand because it had to.
The light from above made her an angel.The light in the mirror was a mere copy.
Her image was radiant, with a glow that the Man in the Moon, and even the Lord of the Sun, would revere.The image in the mirror was a reflection.
She was the first, the original, the genuine alpha.The mirror was the replica.
She was glorious and pure, untainted and untarnished.The mirror was the corrupted.
She was the greatest; unsurpassable, unparalleled.But the mirror was the parallel.


She and the mirror were one and the same.
​






Because the mirror, for all its worth, is a reflection of reality. Reality defines the mirror. The mirror is the reality. The mirror is shiny, not because it is shiny, but because it is a mirror. The mirror reflects light, not because it reflects light, but because light bounces off it. Because these are the words that are additional – they make no sense, but seem to have profound meaning. Like the mirror – without light, there is no reflection. Without light, there is no mirror. There is just a plain sheet of glass, indistinguishable from any other sheet of glass.


Because the word ‘because’ is repeated several times, and must be repeated again. Because the mirror is the theme, the mirror must be mentioned again. Because there is not enough content, more content must be created again. Because, mirror. The mirror cannot be mirrored by itself, unless it can. The mirror is a mirror that mirrors mirrors if there is a mirror opposite to the mirroring mirror facing the mirror while mirroring the mirroring mirror while being mirrored. The word ‘mirror’ has lost all meaning.


Because the mirror is a mirror, it must be a mirror. Coming to the last conclusion, the mirror can finally rest. For the mirror is vigorous and unrelenting, forever mirroring, except in total darkness, where it can rest. But the mirror is not in total darkness; it can never be, as total darkness only exists at the end of the universe, and, by then, the mirror would have been mirrored into oblivion. But now the count has been reached. The minimum amount. Now, the mirror can rest.
 
@IctoraPost, truth be told, I died laughing. I read it aloud and had to stop a second at the eternal mirror mentioning... started slurring my words like a drunkard. Made me think of Doctor Who, oddly enough. @asharasahara too, I liked how you took reflection to a mental level! Both of you were very good! Alas, I can only choose one <->


Ictora,
​


Pokemon-I-Choose-You.png
​


 
​


I choose you.
​
 
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Thanks! I had no idea what to write after the first hundred words, so I just spouted out some gibberish. Glad you liked it.


A prompt with multiple meanings


Prompt: Mask


Word Count: 100 - 500 words


Time Limit: 48 hours
 
It was simple in design. The black paint started at a point near the center top, expanding as it came down the left side to encompass the eye before condensing back to a point near the center bottom. Around the other eye was a circle of black, large enough to mask the ridge of the cheek and eyebrow. The mouth was made to look like an unnatural grin coming to points rather than soft curves. In it's simplicity it was meant to be disconcerting and creepy.





 





It was.





 





No matter who wore it or possessed it, they were always known as Fate; they were a branch of an entity most mortals cannot understand. The complexity of just the role of Fate was too much for many, leaving so few to retain the mask and the role.





 





There were a select few that never got that choice. 





 





She was one of them.





 





With a sigh, she pulled the mask over her face, catching the phantom of Fate out of the corner of her eye as she did so.





 





"You do realize that the mask is now officially pointless," he pointed out, his voice sounding slightly echoy in her head.





 





She shrugged, returning with, "It helps put his mind at ease."





 





Fate hummed in acknowledgement as she donned the attire connected with Fate. As blatantly of a lie as it was, Fate had to agree that it was easier when the parental units and any others they were working with distanced her from him. They tended to not be quite so hesitant nor so worried.





 





She stepped out of the room, gaining everyone's attention.





 





Even after so long exposed to the mask, many shrank away from the sight of it. The frozen grin hid her expression and it made it easy to appear to be watching one thing while truly watching another. Additionally, it had come to be an enjoyment of theirs to freak people out just by turning the mask towards them without any other indicator they are paying attention. The way they bristle is hilarious. What made it even funnier was that many equated the paint on the mask to represent the yin-yang symbol.





 





They both believed it was more like a target than anything else.





 





The explosion rocked the room, sending debris and bodies everywhere. She moved forward, away from those that she cared about, and the attacker's attention was on her masked face in an instant. She dodged one attack, then another. Sometimes those that came after them had been broken in some aspect and were blaming the mask for their problems.





 





The scariest were those that saw going up against the mask of Fate to be a challenge.
 

Clad in white, lips so red and eyes so bright, the epitome of perfection.​




Voice enchanting, laughter everlasting, it’s the sound of liberation.​




A smile so bold, confidence so controlled, with lasting consideration,​




Their heart is kind, their words a peace of mind, radiating adoration,​




They are grace, always a welcoming face, caught in eyes of fascination,​




But they’re reserved, their true self submerged, drowning in their resignation.​




There’s a voice in their head, it’s spouting of dead, it speaks of abomination.​




“You are useless,” it’s always abusive, they suffer in degradation.​




Yet they’ve been silent, long since reliant, they’re falling in the corruption.​




It mentions every past sin, speaks with a grin, it forces them deprecation.​




“You are a failure, a disgrace, a lousy waste of space,​




There’s no need for you. You are a mistake. Don’t have a clue,​




So do us all a favor and die, end it with a sigh.”​




Words like a knife, they agree to the destruction…​




Lips so white and eyes so dull, a sign of depression…​




They sway, hands of sin wrapped in suffocation.​




It's unexpected, they were beautiful, perfection.​




They’re inner demons hidden in a note, the epitome of destruction.​




​




​




​




​




​
 
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Comes in to try my hand at this. 
Reads everyone else's entries and leaves.
 
Ambela said:
Comes in to try my hand at this. 
Reads everyone else's entries and leaves.
Click to expand...

Come back and enter!! It's not really a competition. ^_^ We just like writing and sharing stories based off the prompt. The one that picked the prompt picks their favorite or the one they thought fit the prompt best to pick the next prompt.
 
[SIZE=10pt]Once upon a time there was a baby girl. Her parents loved her dearly. Her mother spent every free moment in the girl’s room and signing her songs and reading her books. Her father, though he had little free time, tucked her in, and gave her all of his love. They lived happily, as most royals do. But like all stories, it turned sour after a while. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]The Queen grew restless with her child. It felt like she had been locked up in the castle like when she was younger. So she went into the woods to get away for a day. While she was there, singing her lovely song to the birds, an old lady approached her. Not the Queen had a hard time trusting any old ladies that came near her. She had once been tricked into eating a poisoned apple by one.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]Cautiously the Queen approached the old lady.  [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]The old lady promised her that she could offer freedom. She could offer the Queen freedom from her child. After a moment of thinking, the queen eagerly agreed. What the old lady did not tell the Queen was that her baby would not be home when she returned. There would be no memory of the child. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]The old lady took the baby far away. She locked her away in a tower, far, far away from anyone. The child grew, often singing songs to pass the time. She had a beautiful voice, even more so than her mother. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]The old lady told the girl stories of kingdoms and lost princesses. She told her of a woman who was so vain that she gave away the daughter she loved dearly. She said that the women was cursed to never see her daughter again.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]The girl soon ached to get away. She wanted to live a story for herself. So she ran away. She ran far far away, ending up back into her own kingdom. No one knew who she was. So she walked the streets, and slowly made her way to the castle[/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]She ended up inside the castle. Everything was dark and gloomy. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were dim. It was as if a darkness had come upon the castle. The girl walked around, and saw no one. She turned the corner and there was the old lady. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt]She asked the girl to eat an apple, as her mother had done. The girl accepted and fell to the ground. The old lady cried, for she knew there was no way to bring her back. There was no kiss to end this curse. Her mother would never see her again, just as the girl would never breath again. That was the curse that they had to face. [/SIZE]


Word count: 460
 
The shadow out the corner of her eye. It always lingered there, just out of sight, and it poked at her shoulder. It mocked her, teased her. It grabbed at the fabric of her shirt and ran it's slimy shadowy fingers down the lines of her shoulder blades. She was never able to see it but she knew it was there. It always followed her. 


Nobody else ever seemed able to see the figure that hung over her. When she bristled at it's touch, they just asked her whether she was cold. They were blind to the dark shadow and it's mocking actions. Nobody could hear the whispers that reached her ears. They couldn't understand why she clutched at her ears and cried. 


It didn't matter what she did. Facing the mirror and yelling at the shadow- trying to rip it's claws from her back- was useless. It's touch never left her alone for more than a few moments at a time. Trying to ignore it didn't work either. That just egged it on. It encouraged it. It made the creature want her more. 


"Please! Please, leave me alone!" She pleaded but the shadow just smiled. It's smile hung in the air, grimy and thick with dirt. She was cursed to be followed by the figure until she died. But she didn't know that yet. 
 
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Kepler shuddered, curling farther in on himself as the sounds of his pursuers dissipated. He had never asked for this. 





 





He nearly jumped out of his clothing when a hand touched his arm. "Kepler."





 





The small skeleton tensed, frightened and ready to run. Squatting before him was his dad with an expression full of concern.





 





"Easy, baby bones," his dad spoke softly, his gruff, deep voice an octave lower. It was soothing and familiar. "It's just me."





 





"W-why are you here?" he asked, stuttering over his words in his fright. This time he didn't flinch away when his dad touched him and the rounder skeleton quickly pulled him into a tight hug. There was the sense of the world dropping out from under them briefly before they were in the living room. Kepler sagged against his dad.





 





"Your teacher overheard the commotion and called." The air got thick. "Kep, I need to look you over."





 





Kepler shook his head. His dad leaned back, magic breaking Kepler's grip with the utmost gentleness.





 





"Please, Kep. For my peace of mind."





 





Kepler curled in on himself, knowing that if he took the clothing off his torso, his dad would get mad.But his dad's hands were soft and coaxing and before Kepler knew it, he was sitting in the living room topless. His ribs were as they always were; a giant birth defect left parts of his rib cage unformed, leaving an opening that went from the upper right to the lower left over where his purple soul resided visible at the center. Kepler watched his dad's attention go to the markings on his son's bones.





 





Kepler shuddered. While skeletons didn't bruise, there were still hairline fractures and chipped and scuffed bones. Kepler couldn't help wrapping his arms around himself, trying and failing to hide the worst of the evidence.





 





"Kepler." He flinched at his dad's voice. He glanced up at his dad, wary. His dad was texting quickly before pocketing the phone. "How did this happen?"





 





Kepler shook his head. A door upstairs opened and closed.





 





"Kepler, please."





 





Kepler curled tighter into himself before he felt his uncle's healing magic curling around him. Kepler relaxed, noting that his uncle's appearance explained the text. Comforted by having his uncle there as silent support, Kepler offered, "I never asked to be cursed like this, unable to do the things they do and treated differently because of it."





 





His dad's expression turned sad and Kepler almost took back his words. Almost. His dad and uncle had tried saving his life when he was born but it had left Kepler with several birth defects. The teachers had no choice but to accommodate Kepler; a skeleton that was unable to wield magic beyond what held him together, blind in the right eye, and fragile. But calling it all a curse was something that hit a little too close to home for his dad, even if this was only the second time he had called it all a curse.
 
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It was lingering, floating in the darkness, unseen, unheard, unfelt. There was a slight ripple in the air around it – a slight disturbance in the uniform irregularity of the universe itself. Then a pause. Something small; something almost inconsequential, had come into the space, down on the soiled ground. It wavered as the being crunched at the hard, dry grass, a remnant of the day’s lasting heat. A girl. A little girl, stumbling around, clutching at air, desperately trying to grasp onto the present, with her past but a memory and her future uncertain.


It was a girl of ringing voice and golden skin, with hair of crisp perfection. It was all lost in the oppressive silence of the night. The moon pulsed black, unseen in the world’s shadow, the stars weakly spluttering out their rays. The leaves swished around the murk, branches slicing through the gloom. Trunks penetrated the shadow and shade, making their mark against the darkness. The towering giants stared down at the human, judging its insignificant existence. She faltered.


Then it flared bright, a beacon of hope in the endless emptiness – the wispy blue flame, guardian of the light. She saw it. How could she not? It was the only spark in the horror of the wandering, guiding people to the end of the road. It flickered and spun down between the trees. She followed. It hopped and burned through the air. She followed. It leapt and flamed across the ground. She followed.


In the dry, dry dark, she followed the brilliant azure, running and jumping forwards. The flash blazed a path into the night, lighting the line as it went. The flames burst from the grass, racing across the floor. She tried to keep up – she tried to watch the blue – but it was gone. All that was left was the circling fire, spiralling up the trembling giants, dashing to the girl. She watched as it got closer. Then she closed her eyes.


This was her curse, and she accepted it.
 

Clashing. Sweat. Blood Tears. I fell into the pattern again. Strike. Parry. Thrust. Deflect. Strike. Parry. Thrust. Deflect. Strike. Parry. Thrust. De- SHIT. NO. NO. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. NOT WHEN HE WAS SO CLOSE THIS TIM- The last thing I felt was the sensation of his skull being cleaved open in twain. Dead. You fucking wished. 
​


Again
​


I laid within the confines of the dark, weary void for what seemed one long, ephemeral moment before he woke up. Rudely. I managed to duck and swerve under the blow this time. Really? Didn't even give me a warning this time. I rolled my eyes as his sword clashed with that of the giant broadsword of his prison. I'd give it 10 seconds, 15 seconds this time. At least, I had managed to improve by 5 seconds more from the last time. Oh well. He wasn't going to behead him this tim- Wait. Why couldn't I feel his body anymore? 
​


Again
​


Alright. Plan B. Don't fall into a pattern this time. Drop your sword and shield. Get light. He's a moose. He's not gonna be Usain Bolt wearing that type of plate-mail on his body. Try running for it again. Maybe, it could work again this ti- Wait. Why was he. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Gaining on him. How was he that- Oh SHIIIITTTTTTT-
​


Again
​


Why did I even bother this time? I raised his hands outwards and grimly stepped towards his charging opponent, flipping two birds in the air. 
​


" Fuck yo-"
​


Again
​


Ah hah! Take that, motherfucker! How do you feel without your right arm right now! Can't do anything. Can you? Can - OH GOD. MY SPINE!
​


Again
​


Could he be defeated? How many times did I ask myself that? He could be hurt. That was all I could do. Scratches. Mere dents. And he'd punished me kindly in return with disproportionate retribution. 
​


Again
​


Was Sisyphus truly a myth? Could I succeed where he failed? Did I ask too much from the impossible?
​


Again
​


I charged into battle. Once more. To break free from my prison. 
​
 
Empyrean Bliss


(Inspired from: Warhammer 40K)




The eternal torment. Thick, never-ending. Visions of his forefathers, the unbroken paradigm, the continued cycle. Solely, the fact preyed upon the minds of the pretender, the minion, the epitome of the truest of losers among a sea of many. Marred by falsehood, treachery, deception, bought forth in a corporeal form. Disgusting, depraved, tears reeking of acrid pungent stench, to the eyes, the ears, and the nose of normalcy itself.


Exalted power, was what he presumed it to be. Never the thought came to him that the sacrifice of his humanity was far too great a loss. A phyrric victory for the ever-wanting soul. A victory for fools and jesters


He pursued the undeniable footsteps of his ancestors, the precursors of his precursors; the ones he so loathed — them and their weak, laughable will. Their thunderous wrath, licentious lust and callous disregard for the one true emperor, revealed at only the most apprehensive moment. Thrown into a minor scrimmage, the looming threat of loss slithering close, the temptation, the throbbing despair, all materialized at the most tense moment. 


He regretted it. Morose self-loathing now a symbol of his blasphemous life. He now detested his past self — oh, very foolish he was. Ditching all he was taught. Wallowing in filth, slaughtering innocents repeatedly, and writhing amongst the impure. Truly the most terrible of fates available to a man. 



The accursed, may the Gods shit on them.


(237 words)
 
 
Head Games


word count: 202





He looked, he screamed, he sobbed. But no one noticed. It was as if he wasn't there at all. Or, it was because he had done none of those things except within his mind. Because he was trapped in his head, forever. It was his curse. It was everyone’s curse, but the only one that seemed to know was him. The only one that seemed to be drowning in front of everyone was him. And no one cared. He was crying for air, crying to be heard, but he was too far away. As he grew older, he learned that it was no use trying to get the attention he desperately needed. Because no one wanted to listen. No one would understand even though they all were bound together by the same curse. So he lived his life in his thoughts, in his dreams. In a place no one but him could see, feel, hear. And he lived alone. Watched as people talked, hugged, kissed. Watched them all pretend as though they didn’t have the curse themselves. Watched as they all singled him out for a curse they had. And said nothing. Did nothing. Because he knew what they didn’t.

 


The curse.
 
Perhaps it's time to bring in my style of writing. Ahem...


Now, mate. I bet you're wondering what's going on. Trust me, if I knew... actually I probably wouldn't even bother to tell you. But that's besides the point! As we can see outside... uh, mate? Over here. Oh wait! You're just reading this. Now, just imagine a small barricaded window. Now, imagine just outside this small barricaded window that there is horde of the undead dead. Pretty scary, amiright? Truly. There are so many tentacle Zeds here, that you could swear it's a crappy Japanese Anime. Well, minus the animation. Possibly a Manga if you only had words. ANYWAY, I'm pretty sure those tentacle monsters are alright to be around. Well, I haven't actually tested yet... perhaps you'd like to volunteer, confused reader?
 
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Awesome to see so many entries this time 'round! It was a tough one, dayum!


@Borkus Lazorus, I giggled too much while reading it, and I like the concept you went with it. Your turn to sweat under the spotlight of picking the next writer to offer a prompt, mwhahaha~
 
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