— contains profanity. before you read, have a conversation with yourself to make sure you won’t be offended —
Walking down Main Street
See some guy I know, say hi
He-ey
Uhh hi
Awkward but it doesn’t matter
Keep walking
Go to Starbucks, order a tall cup of hot milk
By, Jack Joseph
Long bus rides seem boring
We have yet to learn the truth:
The only nap-time
Shooting stars above
Astronomers call out
“Get to the shelter”
Today in Writers’ Club, we listened to three songs from a diverse range of genres–classical, obscenely gangster rap, and lastly, Icelandic–while writing short stories that had to revolve around three characters: Job, Trixie, and Lola. The goal was not to create something extremely refined, but simply be inspired by the mood that music creates. Below are the two stories I wrote; the first contains both Job and Trixie, and the second contains Lola.
by Angela Guo
A very young baby girl named Lola stared at the circle of plastic toys spinning above her face. Among the objects in the circle were a rubber duck, a miniature beach ball, and a Barbie-sized clown. Laying peacefully in her crib, Lola studied the toy clown.
The painted red smile on the clown’s face began to turn downward. Lola’s mouth followed this movement. Lola opened her mouth, which was still missing quite a few teeth. All of a sudden, the clown fell off the circle, landing into Lola’s open mouth. Lola was paralyzed with fear, too surprised and too young to think of pulling the toy clown from her mouth.
By Declan Quinn. For the “the two stood face to face” prompt.
The two stood face to face, frozen in their little moment in time. There they stood, a sharp outcrop of black against the bleak white backdrop. It was like standing in a white room, except that the walls, floor, and ceiling didn’t exist. Nothing existed, except for the two, standing against the passing of time, the infinite of space, confined to their own little corner of their own universe.
By Jack Joseph
This is my response to the fear prompt. It’s meant to be from someone’s perspective that doesn’t realize that he or she is living in fear. Contains barely any mature language.
_________
I left as quickly as I could. I hadn’t said anything, luckily, but I could still feel all of their eyes on me. Why can’t they just let me suffer on my own? It’s bad enough as it is without them laughing behind my back. I know they do it. Even if I try to spend the period with my head down while I doodle in my note-book, their attention gravitates towards me. Oh, they’re subtle though. I rarely see them stare at me directly, but I know that they do it. Those clever assholes have had years to practice.
The walk home is blissful, even though I know I have homework, projects, presentations, finals, interviews, applications, tests, and quizzes all hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I finally had time to be away from those bastards and just breath (which, coincidentally enough, is what my biology presentation next Thursday is about — breathing, I mean). I didn’t need to worry about the cars passing by me on the sidewalk and what the drivers thought of me. Why should they? I’m nothing to them! I am a bystander in their lives. I play such an insignificant role that anyone could do it! The blink of an eye and I’m gone. Just like that. Never really needed to be there in the first place. God what a beautiful kind of life. No one peering into you, asking questions about what you think, who you look up to, or what kind of ice cream you like. Continue reading
by Jack Joseph
My response to the prompt “write from the perspective of someone who is dying/about to die.”
____________
Sometimes we live too long; only when the cancer of the body or the cancer of the mind takes charge can we finally see the light at the end of this twisting tunnel of suffering. Life is a thorn in the path, which once removed no longer inhibits the progress of that which never should have stopped. There is no need to fear moving on; I have seen preachers commit genocide and sinners earn glowing halos. It is the failing of man to think that our brother, cloaked in darkness, is our enemy. He is our only family, someone present for every downfall and every victory. For our entire miserable lives he holds our hand, silently guiding us towards a peaceful slumber. He provides the hope we need to move on, to strive for that which seems so far away. We should not pity the dead. We should pity the living, for it is they who must contend with the pain and destruction of life. Continue reading
By Jack Joseph
This is a true story in response to the “danger” prompt. Though I didn’t know it at the time, it runs out that I had fractured my collarbone, but not nearly bad enough to do anything about it.
__________
It didn’t take long to realize my mistake. Obviously I jumped too far, and with too much force. Obviously I shouldn’t have gone for the one that was bound to break soon anyway.
But isn’t that the point?
Don’t I climb to be unsafe, to go someplace few others have been, to get that wonderful feeling as the branches move beneath me, yet I know that I am perfectly balanced, perfectly in tune with the giant organism that supports my weight dozens of feet off the ground?
Maybe I wasn’t careful enough. Going down has always required more thought and care than the ascension. Didn’t Sam get stuck in that redwood, years ago? But oaks are not redwoods. Their branches stay thick; their roots go deep. But maybe I shouldn’t have tried leaping from the powerful branch to the one hanging above me. Perhaps I should have climbed around it, but the opportunity was too perfect. The branch was right there, waiting to be leapt to and swung upon to reach the safety of the beam-like limb suspended just out of reach.
Destiny called, and as I felt my hands grasp the rough wood and a feeling of exultation washed over me, the truth broke in on my majestic flight and the ground rushed up to meet me. Continue reading
This month’s prompts are:
Tell us about the experience of being outside, looking in — however you’d like to interpret that.
The Other Side by Christian Theodossy
Write about fear or being lost.
Time by Angela Guo
Thoughts Before Sleep by Nick Kaufman
Spiders by Alan Osmundson
Isolation: the Only Truth by Jack Joseph
Describe the one decision in your life where you wish you could get a “do-over.” Tell us about the decision, and why you’d choose to take a different path this time around.
Write a post that includes dialogue between two or more people — other than you.
You’re at the beach, lounging on your towel, when a glistening object at the water’s edge catches your eye. It’s a bottle — and yes, it contains a message. What does it say?
Valentine’s Day
Lantern Festival by David Xie
Dangerous Love by Maya Asregadoo
Untitled by Michael Lutzker
by Angela Guo
My response to the prompt about fear.
———————
Tick
Tock
I walk
Tick
Tock
I run
Tick tock
It chases me
Tick tock
It never stops
Tick
I try to enjoy the
Time
but
tick
tock
and it’s gone
by Nick Kaufman
There’s the chair. And the stereo. The door. My entire room slowly coming into focus, each shape revealing itself from its one-way window. Slower and slower, I do not move and yet I can feel myself beginning to pass through, in this darkness, as though I were slowly being overtaken by a wall of black water.
I close my eyes once more and breathe, imagining myself laying here in my bed, waiting for this submersion to be complete. This has been my ritual for the past hour. Or has it been a half hour? Two hours? It appears I am further than I thought: Time is dead.
I open my eyes and look around the room. Every object is clearly defined now, I can see everything. The submersion is complete. I have entered this dark realm. And now that I have brushed past the black veil, I see that this place favors a quer blue-ish glow which bathes my surroundings in a blue haze.
Safety. Calm. Peace. Present
Only these exist in this universe created be the void. My mind expands infinitely, exploring multiple caverns – each with its own railroad. And as one locomotive leave its station, my mind leaps atop the rood and travels with the car. My conscious thoughts race back and forth in a sea of invisible gears and metal which can only be produced from the legendary forges of the mind, providing a myriad of stepping stones – each shattering upon contact. The fragments scattering, some are lost, but others are retained and pursued. Continue reading
Words 