Abi_J
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Disturb me in 50 words or fewer
Written by Abi_J

Decay

The world melts.

Each flower becomes wax,

The leaves drip to the ground.

This is just the beginning.

Death's rickety fingers reach towards you,

The talons shaking.

Blood swells from decaying eye sockets

and worms devouring organs make the skin pulse, and the corpse breathe.

From ashes to dust return.

10
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Juice
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Disturb me in 50 words or fewer
Written by Abi_J
Decay
The world melts.
Each flower becomes wax,
The leaves drip to the ground.
This is just the beginning.
Death's rickety fingers reach towards you,
The talons shaking.
Blood swells from decaying eye sockets
and worms devouring organs make the skin pulse, and the corpse breathe.
From ashes to dust return.
10
4
1
Juice
35 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Nonfiction

Human

I sit in a room filled with people.

And I know those people to.

Surrounded by friends I feel alone.

So what is it that I am missing?

What is it that I search for?

Feelings wash over me,

And,

To afraid to say anything about the pain I feel,

I sit silently.

I hope that by my withdrawal from society someone will notice me.

Someone might notice my suffering.

I am drowning in this sea of emotions,

And as I silently drown I reach out desperately for someone to hold onto.

But I don't trust them.

So I show them a facade. 

I show them one worthy of the silver screen,

Worthy of Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt.

With every passing moment I feel lonelier.

When did it become such a sin to be human?

6
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22 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Nonfiction
Human
I sit in a room filled with people.
And I know those people to.
Surrounded by friends I feel alone.
So what is it that I am missing?
What is it that I search for?
Feelings wash over me,
And,
To afraid to say anything about the pain I feel,
I sit silently.
I hope that by my withdrawal from society someone will notice me.
Someone might notice my suffering.
I am drowning in this sea of emotions,
And as I silently drown I reach out desperately for someone to hold onto.
But I don't trust them.
So I show them a facade. 
I show them one worthy of the silver screen,
Worthy of Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt.
With every passing moment I feel lonelier.
When did it become such a sin to be human?

6
1
1
Juice
22 reads
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Once upon a field of snow
Written by Abi_J

Snow Day

Once upon a field of snow,

Firelight bounced and it's orange glow,

Chased the dark, gray-blue sky,

To people searching for something nigh.

The patter of soft snowflakes as they sift through the sky,

The laughter of children playing.

The sighs of mothers as they sweep snow from the step,

and old women sit and quietly knit.

In the field of snow a mouse burrows,

It's sleek fur slips through crystallized worlds,

The snow, white dust,

Floats.

Mound upon mound of snow, floats down in starry boats,

Galaxies, all different, yet indifferent to the graves they cover.

The floating snow, oh floating snow,

Glows from firelight's watery orange, 

And grows.

4
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23 reads
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Once upon a field of snow
Written by Abi_J
Snow Day
Once upon a field of snow,
Firelight bounced and it's orange glow,
Chased the dark, gray-blue sky,
To people searching for something nigh.
The patter of soft snowflakes as they sift through the sky,
The laughter of children playing.
The sighs of mothers as they sweep snow from the step,
and old women sit and quietly knit.
In the field of snow a mouse burrows,
It's sleek fur slips through crystallized worlds,
The snow, white dust,
Floats.
Mound upon mound of snow, floats down in starry boats,
Galaxies, all different, yet indifferent to the graves they cover.
The floating snow, oh floating snow,
Glows from firelight's watery orange, 
And grows.
4
2
0
Juice
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Alabaster skin sucked of life and moisture.

Black winged butterflies kiss the lips.

Bleeding. Black. White.

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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Alabaster skin sucked of life and moisture.
Black winged butterflies kiss the lips.
Bleeding. Black. White.
4
0
0
Juice
14 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The leaves rustle,

Yet are shiveringly still,

A forgotten member passes on the wind's will.

7
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The leaves rustle,
Yet are shiveringly still,
A forgotten member passes on the wind's will.
7
1
1
Juice
23 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Vitality of Death

I rake my fingers through the dusty air,

And run my hands through my sweaty hair.

The storm clouds gather in the east,

A looming mass waiting for me to leave.

I know not where to go, 

For I was supposed to die long ago.

An effigy of God wandering the land,

As boots and bones decay in the shifting sands,

Of time and of earth and of the passing of all things living.

They destroyed the world,

They said "let freedom reign,"

And now, I stand. 

Acid rain drips down my face.

The clods of blood ripple and race,

Forming puddles and pools in the mountains and valleys of pores.

They race across the forests of tiny hairs that alight on humans and bears.

The clods of blood, streaming from eyes damaged by the horrors they have seen

Even ripple through the sweetest dreams.

And those dreams may remain sweet,

But so also are they sticky, with the vitality of destroyed life.

2
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Vitality of Death
I rake my fingers through the dusty air,
And run my hands through my sweaty hair.
The storm clouds gather in the east,
A looming mass waiting for me to leave.

I know not where to go, 
For I was supposed to die long ago.
An effigy of God wandering the land,
As boots and bones decay in the shifting sands,
Of time and of earth and of the passing of all things living.

They destroyed the world,
They said "let freedom reign,"
And now, I stand. 

Acid rain drips down my face.
The clods of blood ripple and race,
Forming puddles and pools in the mountains and valleys of pores.
They race across the forests of tiny hairs that alight on humans and bears.

The clods of blood, streaming from eyes damaged by the horrors they have seen
Even ripple through the sweetest dreams.
And those dreams may remain sweet,
But so also are they sticky, with the vitality of destroyed life.
2
0
0
Juice
23 reads
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Write 3 poems. But, not just any poem! Write the poems as follows: Roses are red (Something that ends up rhyming with "red") Violets are blue (Something that ends up rhyming with "blue") They can be funny, serious, angry, sad, or violent! You do you. Good luck!
Written by Abi_J

Triplet

Roses are red,

Blood oozes from under the bed.

Violets are blue,

and this is my hate of you.

I step down from the sheets

And in slips under my feet.

Roses are red,

They decorate the dead.

Violets are blue,

They speak of things people never knew.

And the memories and houses of both

Haunt faces never born and places that never existed.

Roses are red,

I love you he said.

Violets are blue,

Say something to me too.

I never presumed this emotion,

These waves of the ocean.

I could not predict the tides of the moon.

4
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Juice
33 reads
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Write 3 poems. But, not just any poem! Write the poems as follows: Roses are red (Something that ends up rhyming with "red") Violets are blue (Something that ends up rhyming with "blue") They can be funny, serious, angry, sad, or violent! You do you. Good luck!
Written by Abi_J
Triplet
Roses are red,
Blood oozes from under the bed.
Violets are blue,
and this is my hate of you.
I step down from the sheets
And in slips under my feet.


Roses are red,
They decorate the dead.
Violets are blue,
They speak of things people never knew.
And the memories and houses of both
Haunt faces never born and places that never existed.

Roses are red,
I love you he said.
Violets are blue,
Say something to me too.
I never presumed this emotion,
These waves of the ocean.
I could not predict the tides of the moon.
4
1
0
Juice
33 reads
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Short and sweet challenge. Write a story--a horror, thriller, drama, comedy, tragedy, etc.--in 15 words. See how much impact you can make with such few words. Winning prize: 50 coins
Written by Abi_J

Worship the God's of the Marketplace

In the marketplace,

a striped tent and inside, 

a shrine. 

And what will you buy?

0
0
0
Juice
16 reads
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Short and sweet challenge. Write a story--a horror, thriller, drama, comedy, tragedy, etc.--in 15 words. See how much impact you can make with such few words. Winning prize: 50 coins
Written by Abi_J
Worship the God's of the Marketplace
In the marketplace,
a striped tent and inside, 
a shrine. 
And what will you buy?
0
0
0
Juice
16 reads
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Abi_J

Desert Flower

   The door creaked open, pushed by some invisible force or maybe a draft from the other room. The girl sitting in the chair in that room lifted her downcast eyes, being pulled from her reverie of mourning. Slightly surprised by the sound, she sat almost comatose staring, as if held captive in some invisible tomb, as the door oscillated in the stagnant summer air. When her brother called from the kitchen she rose, corpse like, and mechanically closed the door. Upon returning to her chair she sat, brown hair spilling over her face, and returned to her reverie. A completely uneventful morning passed by when the girl again looked up, and saw the door flagging in the floating wind. Again, her brother yelled but this time when she rose to close the door, she noticed something. Forgetting to do the thing she set out to do, she stepped out onto the rough welcome mat and creaking old porch with peeling paint. She seemed, for the first time in a long time, to notice her surroundings. Forever she lived in a haze, sitting, maybe eating, and crying herself to sleep, but now that the door was opened she saw the beauty of the world, and calling her brother, stood looking out into the now fading afternoon. Looking worried, he ran to the door, for something must be wrong if his sister, shell shocked by the sudden death of both their parents, called his name. Outlined by the horizon stood a great tree in the desert of their home, and next to it one of the small cactus flowers that all thought to be extinct. Still she stood staring and he, he looked worried. Worried not because of the beauty, but because she might finally understand what happened, because of that flower. And that flower, it would tear them apart. She turned, and as the dust particles floated through the air in their updrafts and downdrafts, she set out across the wasteland. She went quickly to find out more, and he followed quickly, both to find out why that flower might be there but also to keep her from the truth.

   Upon their arrival at the tree and the flower she bent and saw another object on the ground. An old phone, with a cracked screen and the flashing face of her mother. The only image left. Upon picking it up it all made sense. That was why there were no bodies. They buried empty coffins. Why her brother did not mourn.  There was no car crash, only one person who decided to play God and kill them, just to see if he could get away with it. She turned to scream at him and call the police but all that remained were dusty footprints sprinting off into the distance. She picked the flower and returned home where once again she retreated into herself to mourn not two, but three people. She also mourned the loss of her own dear brother.

6
1
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Juice
34 reads
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Abi_J
Desert Flower
   The door creaked open, pushed by some invisible force or maybe a draft from the other room. The girl sitting in the chair in that room lifted her downcast eyes, being pulled from her reverie of mourning. Slightly surprised by the sound, she sat almost comatose staring, as if held captive in some invisible tomb, as the door oscillated in the stagnant summer air. When her brother called from the kitchen she rose, corpse like, and mechanically closed the door. Upon returning to her chair she sat, brown hair spilling over her face, and returned to her reverie. A completely uneventful morning passed by when the girl again looked up, and saw the door flagging in the floating wind. Again, her brother yelled but this time when she rose to close the door, she noticed something. Forgetting to do the thing she set out to do, she stepped out onto the rough welcome mat and creaking old porch with peeling paint. She seemed, for the first time in a long time, to notice her surroundings. Forever she lived in a haze, sitting, maybe eating, and crying herself to sleep, but now that the door was opened she saw the beauty of the world, and calling her brother, stood looking out into the now fading afternoon. Looking worried, he ran to the door, for something must be wrong if his sister, shell shocked by the sudden death of both their parents, called his name. Outlined by the horizon stood a great tree in the desert of their home, and next to it one of the small cactus flowers that all thought to be extinct. Still she stood staring and he, he looked worried. Worried not because of the beauty, but because she might finally understand what happened, because of that flower. And that flower, it would tear them apart. She turned, and as the dust particles floated through the air in their updrafts and downdrafts, she set out across the wasteland. She went quickly to find out more, and he followed quickly, both to find out why that flower might be there but also to keep her from the truth.
   Upon their arrival at the tree and the flower she bent and saw another object on the ground. An old phone, with a cracked screen and the flashing face of her mother. The only image left. Upon picking it up it all made sense. That was why there were no bodies. They buried empty coffins. Why her brother did not mourn.  There was no car crash, only one person who decided to play God and kill them, just to see if he could get away with it. She turned to scream at him and call the police but all that remained were dusty footprints sprinting off into the distance. She picked the flower and returned home where once again she retreated into herself to mourn not two, but three people. She also mourned the loss of her own dear brother.
6
1
0
Juice
34 reads
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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by Abi_J

life of writing

An exit from life,

Or a place to contemplate death.

That is why I write.

4
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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by Abi_J
life of writing
An exit from life,
Or a place to contemplate death.
That is why I write.
4
1
0
Juice
18 reads
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