Abi_J
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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?

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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
4 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.

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Juice
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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.
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Juice
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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.

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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.
3
1
0
Juice
5 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Rain

Rain falls, respite, weary.

Past gray glass windows, dreary

Song of souls to hearts.

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Written by Abi_J in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Rain
Rain falls, respite, weary.
Past gray glass windows, dreary
Song of souls to hearts.
5
3
1
Juice
10 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Stream of Consciousness

Sit and Wish

We all sit and wish,

That we were born long ago

so that we might leave something in the world.

We wish to experience that thing,

Maybe a word that never loses meaning

Or thoughts that will while yet their sentiment remains.

Each writer takes great pains

To be remembered.

To make a difference,

Ergo, the torches of your mind shed,

Effulgence, upon the darkened houses of the future.

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Written by Abi_J in portal Stream of Consciousness
Sit and Wish
We all sit and wish,
That we were born long ago
so that we might leave something in the world.
We wish to experience that thing,
Maybe a word that never loses meaning
Or thoughts that will while yet their sentiment remains.
Each writer takes great pains
To be remembered.
To make a difference,
Ergo, the torches of your mind shed,
Effulgence, upon the darkened houses of the future.
3
0
0
Juice
10 reads
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I'm giving you the power! Choose 10 random words and change the spelling to how you would like it to be spelled. Write it like so (original - new)! Can't wait to see what you guys come up with!
Written by Abi_J

To Maybe Little a Random

facetious-faseeshus

circuitry-sircuttree

annihilate-aneyeilayte

implementation-impliminttashon

empire-emmpyier

solemn - sauleym

feign - faen

random - ranedumb

automatons - ottaumotaunes

diagonal - deyeagonel

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Juice
12 reads
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I'm giving you the power! Choose 10 random words and change the spelling to how you would like it to be spelled. Write it like so (original - new)! Can't wait to see what you guys come up with!
Written by Abi_J
To Maybe Little a Random
facetious-faseeshus
circuitry-sircuttree
annihilate-aneyeilayte
implementation-impliminttashon
empire-emmpyier
solemn - sauleym
feign - faen
random - ranedumb
automatons - ottaumotaunes
diagonal - deyeagonel
3
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0
Juice
12 reads
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Tell a story through a list: 1) It can be broken by numbers or bullet points or commas or something else. 2) It can be a collection or sequence or whatever you want. 3) Winner gets 50 coins.
Written by Abi_J

Shopping List

-Apples

-Tomatoes

-Grapes

-All I have left, its just me and the apes.

-Sit in the tree

-I need to have them pick the fleas off me.

-Lets go for a run

-Maybe spend a little time lying in the sun?

-Try to remember what happened

-Where did everyone go?

-Why is it just me and these apes,

-They keep walking by and saying "Hello"

-Apes don't talk

-What is going on?

-These aren't apes.

-I need to get apples

-Tomatoes

-Grapes

7
2
1
Juice
26 reads
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Tell a story through a list: 1) It can be broken by numbers or bullet points or commas or something else. 2) It can be a collection or sequence or whatever you want. 3) Winner gets 50 coins.
Written by Abi_J
Shopping List
-Apples
-Tomatoes
-Grapes
-All I have left, its just me and the apes.
-Sit in the tree
-I need to have them pick the fleas off me.
-Lets go for a run
-Maybe spend a little time lying in the sun?
-Try to remember what happened
-Where did everyone go?
-Why is it just me and these apes,
-They keep walking by and saying "Hello"
-Apes don't talk
-What is going on?
-These aren't apes.
-I need to get apples
-Tomatoes
-Grapes
7
2
1
Juice
26 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Comedy

Math puns. 

First sine of madness.

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18 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Comedy
Math puns. 
First sine of madness.
11
3
3
Juice
18 reads
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Written by Abi_J in portal Philosophy

True eloquence resides not in a continuity of words, but in the uninterrupted flow of impressions from one person's mind to another which brush past the soul and dive into the life of another being.

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Written by Abi_J in portal Philosophy
True eloquence resides not in a continuity of words, but in the uninterrupted flow of impressions from one person's mind to another which brush past the soul and dive into the life of another being.
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Juice
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Written by Abi_J

A Strangers Voice

If you listen to an unknown voice hard enough, it begins to sound familiar.

You hear the silent e's and sighs and whispers of each little word.

And, that voice again to you whispers,

It whispers of some life lost long ago,

And old paintings hanging near the window,

Of a cathedral, with old iron pipes for bones,

And bats within which they make their homes.

The darkness inside swirls between the pews,

Like fog swirls between trees in the cool, dewy, morning.

And that voice again calls to you, 

From farther away yet,

But still, it calls and stirs in you,

Recognition.

The remembrance of bells,

And your mothers calls.

Now, you see it for what it is,

A voice you once knew,

Long, long, ago.

A voice who, revived in those moments stirred the memory of your soul.

That voice,

That sound that you thought you knew,

Was not familiar after all.

Only like one of your family before the fall.

6
2
0
Juice
36 reads
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Written by Abi_J
A Strangers Voice
If you listen to an unknown voice hard enough, it begins to sound familiar.
You hear the silent e's and sighs and whispers of each little word.
And, that voice again to you whispers,
It whispers of some life lost long ago,
And old paintings hanging near the window,
Of a cathedral, with old iron pipes for bones,
And bats within which they make their homes.
The darkness inside swirls between the pews,
Like fog swirls between trees in the cool, dewy, morning.
And that voice again calls to you, 
From farther away yet,
But still, it calls and stirs in you,
Recognition.
The remembrance of bells,
And your mothers calls.
Now, you see it for what it is,
A voice you once knew,
Long, long, ago.
A voice who, revived in those moments stirred the memory of your soul.
That voice,
That sound that you thought you knew,
Was not familiar after all.
Only like one of your family before the fall.
6
2
0
Juice
36 reads
Login to post comments.
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