A photograph. A flimsy piece of film. Or is it considered paper? "It's this thing that-" I said until she interrupted me:

"I know what a camera does." She said whilst holding her toy teacup high, attempting to catch as many raindrops as possible. "So, are you going to use it?"

Of course. Gotta use it now, before mom finds out. Gotta capture the 'before' and 'after' moments. Whence her big and bright smile, uniformed with her warm, wooly blouse and beanie (despite being drenched head to toe), brought life among the mood-drying grey skies, muddy puddles, and ants, snails, and flies.

"Are you just gonna keep staring? Do I need to replace your batteries again?"

"I'm not a robot." I said.

"You sure go through your days like one."

"Whaat. C'mon. Gimmie a break."

"You spent an entire day furrowing your eyebrows like a madman, all because your mom said no more video games." She said.

"But then I came to you-"

"And I replaced those batteries." She said, "My little robot."

"Little? We're the same age."

"And yet, you don't know what a period is."

"A way to end a sentence."

She giggled, "No silly-"

"Now, I can't be mister 'serious robot' and silly." I said, "Anyways. Hold still."

Soon, her toy teacup will overflow, and she will dump it out, and catch them again. Soon a photograph will flit out, instantaneously greeted with a cascade of bullet-like droplets; hundreds trying to pierce through before even a fly can flap its wings once. So, I slouched forward, protecting it.

"I think I blinked. Can we take another?" She asked.

"There wouldn't be time."

"Time? For what? It takes one click."

"Time for-" I slid. I went from standing to sliding towards her like Indiana Jones just before the door closes. I slid down onto one knee. It was such a cool, but sudden move. She was probably thinking: "Woah, so cool!" I would've been able to top it all off, if I could just remember the words.

"Um- Uh." I said. She giggled again with a glowing red face.

There was just too much focus on the action that I forgot what I wanted to say. I decided: "Whatever. Just follow up with the next course of action." and so I pulled out the ring pop and asked: "Will you marry me?"

The giggling stopped. Did I do something wrong? Her face turned as redder, like a ruby. Maybe it's because I got a ring pop, and not an actual ring. She dropped her teacup, hands to her mouth to prevent any gasping. "I'm sorry, I can't afford a-" I tried to speak, but...

"We're only ten years old." She said.

I guess there wouldn't be an 'after' moment.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah." I couldn't stop myself from repeating the same word. "Yeah, yeah..." My pitch grew higher. My head swayed like a swivel. I looked down at the ring. "How foolish of me." I thought.

"But, You know. Maybe we can make a smaller promise. Marriage isn't something that should be rushed into. It should be thought over carefully." She said, "Maybe we should start smaller. Maybe-"

What is she saying? Smaller? I've known her for, at least, a year. How long do people need to know each other for this stuff? A year is a very long time. And I can't see myself marrying anyone else.

"Maybe instead of marriage, we promise to remain as neighbors." She said.

"Very well." I said, looking to the two houses behind her; The only witnesses to vouch. "Neighbors 'till death do us part." And thus, I placed the ring pop around her finger. My neighbor kissed my head and whispered: "Someday, we'll get married."

That was about 10 years ago.

All of this flooded my mind once I knew where I was. Standing. Here. New camera in my hand.

"Look at that bird." A woman's voice called out to me, followed by her pointing towards a hummingbird holding a tiny piece of a electronic circuit; nestled in a tree.

"Take a picture. Take a picture!" She happily jumped up and down, dragging me towards the tree. Behind it all were two houses.

"I can't." I said

"Why? It takes one click?-"

And everything is gone. My promise.

"I- I promised someone something."

The woman must've not heard me. She was busying swatting away ants, snails, and flies, whilst avoiding any muddy puddles. She was clothed in a bright yellow raincoat, and held an umbrella.

"Ugh. This place is disgusting." She said, but turning to me she asked: "Babe. Are you ok?"

I had a tear in my eye. "Yeah, I think I just forgot something."

"It probably wasn't that important then. Right?" She said, kissing my head.

The hummingbird flew away after dropping the electronic circuit, which came crashing down into a million pieces upon impact with, what seemed to be, a million branches. And the two houses stood there, watching.

It was a bittersweet kiss

I used to look at rhyming like a crossword.

The final rhyme in a line

must be fine yet aligned

with the meaning; whether normal or absurd.

Yet every rhyme shouldn't be hard to find.

Even the blind will find,

whether spoken in front or behind,

no hunt or incline,

the blunt power of a rhyme.

Yet rhymes don't have to be at the end;

let them be at the start,

maybe mix, mash and let met in the middle.

Just don't fret over proper English too much.

Hell, use a rhyme twice.

Slice a word of it's two, three meanings:

dwell the reader in hell

as they spend a hell of a time

pacing back and forth over

what the hell you meant.

Even big words like 'criminal'

are irresistible to the ear.

Though they take more time to think of.

Just don't go invisible to the idea

of a multi-syllable tortilla--

I mean multi-syllable rhyme.

Sorry, I'm hungry.

3am; awakened by the wooden floor creaking, scratching, like nails on a chalkboard. But they’re chipping. I imagine bits and pieces flying after bumping against every grout in her way; like students pausing at every equation on the board, peeling their nails out of boredom from x/y, or whatever her teacher is teaching. I told her 'eating green will make you smarter,' but she won't believe me. I told her to 'eat them when you're hungry,' but no; instead that little monster prefers yanking frozen food around at 3am for a popsicle.

“Go to bed.”

“But mom, I’m hungry…”

I remember hearing that insanity is repeating the same action everyday, but expecting different results.

So are all students insane?

Are all adults insane?

You keep telling me that soon I'd be driving the same car, down the same roads, to the same job, working 8 hours, just to come back and sleep in the same bed.

You wish you could be me, taking the same bus, seeing the same professors, relearning the same lessons, afraid to watch the numbers drop, both your grades and in your account.

You say I write dark. Just realized half my closet is black clothing. Bright, vivid colored logos are going black and white. Children graffiti dirty jokes, swearing at one another. The world doesn't trust people with power. They hate Superman, like an army of Lex Luthor's, waving their kryptonite around, discussing all their qualifications, building giant towers in the shape of an L, and letting it hang over the entire city. Ironic isn't it? I shouldn't complain, the world is always going to be dark, it's always going to have some form of conflict. Or maybe I've just been on the internet for too long, maybe playing Kendrick through my air pods are giving me an ear infection, maybe I should switch to my cousins music. Maybe I should try writing something brighter.

Maybe I want to make you laugh. "Knock, knock..." no not that. It's too simple, too- old schooly? What is trending right now? What will make you laugh? Hmm... Maybe I should search it up on the internet. No, no, no. Maybe they just don't like monologues?

...And the denim-jacket-wearing man continues typing on his computer. Surrounded by women, faces closer to their phones than their relationships. Oof, that might've been too harsh.

...And I gotta go now. No edits... To my next class. Goodbye.

January is justifiably red. "No, it's blue!"

According to who? You're colorblind! "hey...

New year, new me, amirite?"

Ubiquitously wherever you go: still colorblind. "What does tha-

a-a-achoo." Are you allergic? "Yes." To what?

"Red January-"

"You're both wrong... it's yellow"

She sees my hand coming,

sliding, slipping

through her hair;

frisking, frolicking

around her ears;

plunging, pushing

down, so I can see

a screen?

poking out of...

I feel her touch;

long nails pressing

against my chest,

lifting my head

away from her... phone?

Half out of her pocket,

big, bright, bold.

My best friend's name?

No, must be imagining things,

Need to confirm.

Stumbling, staggering;

our eyes don't move, still

latched, locked

with hers, but my head

tipping, tilting.

Pointing at his name.

Face turning red.

She goes to grab my hand,

I turn, brush her off,

push her off.

Long nails tapping

on my shoulder,

I turn back,

she's pointing at a present,

big box, wrapped in gold

with his and her name attached.

For me?

For me.

Also the fist rapidly growing

closer to my face,

that is also for me.

Guess I deserve it

Donut. I mean... hold on, let me try again.

Don't bully me for writing in my own challenge. I know it's lame: "look he's writing in his own challenge; what a loser."

What can I say. After reading your works, I was so mutterly impressed. Did I just say 'mutterly,' I meat utterly. NO MEANT; I MEANT UTTERLY.

ugh.

I won't let mispronunciation ruin my 100 words. Maybe I shroud say everything really fast. No wait, I meant- ah screw it. Who cares. Almost every person that wrote in this challenge died anyways. Maybe I'd leave one word.

This-somehow-counts-as-one-word-Do-not-like-this-post-I-want-someone-other-than-me-to-win.

"What do you see when you look outside?" That's what they ask us whenever we are tested. They want to know who has the 'vision.' You know, the special ability to see what's unseen.

To be honest, all I see is a house outside. I see streetlamps, and a sky so blue that it seems like birds are swimming upside down in a vast ocean. I see the land, littered with small red petals which contrast the green blades poking from the ground. I see a place to build more homes, to accompany the one house. A place to heal from wounds, to walk with nature, and sing some tunes.

But that's not what I am told to see. To have the 'vision' I have to see places to take cover; to plant a bomb, not a flower. I have to see areas where arrows are bound to fly by, and where fires would strengthen our numbers, not decrease them. I have to see ways to end life. But I don't see any of this.

Thus, they say I cannot fight. I have no 'vision.' I am useless.

Though every time my eyes close in preparation for the next sun, I hear him. The giant: my creator. He tells me I do have the 'vision.' That what is bound to happen can be stopped if I convince my people. Yet as they gather to assemble whoever is left with the 'vision,' I get pushed aside, with my face eating the dirt and mud.

There is no stopping their plan to take over 'the bedroom.'

Their army consists of the strongest visionaries this house as ever seen,

their swords and arrows are unmatched,

and their plan for war is almost ready...

Oh creator, tell me what to do...

WOW, onomotopoeia's are so easy to spell,

that BOOM, it would blow your mind every time I spell it: nnomatopoeia.

Do you hear that, it's my hand: SIZZLE, because I am on fire with spelling onomatopoeio.

Though there are 12 letters in total, and 6 of them are repeated, thus the other 6 are different letters. But spelling onomatmpoia happens so quick, its like pulling a trigger, BANG.

Not to mention the small number of syllables in the word, oaomatopoeia, makes me want to ZOOM to the creator's house,

and POP open a cold drink with them, as we converse over the topic of onomatopoeta's.

Then we would get in a Uber and VROOM out to the red carpet with matching shirts spelling, "onomatoooeia."

From there, the president will award the creator a cookie, (CRUNCH) for making such a short and easy word to spell, onomatoppeia.

I remember in a spelling bee, the lightbulb above me didn't even FLICK on when I had to spell onometopoeia.

The letters just went WOOSH, all over my head until this beautiful and easy word, onomatoioeia, is spelled.

Wait are they gone? The literary police who judges you based on what's easy to spell and what's not; are they gone?

WHEW, that was close. To be honest, anomatopoeia's are so hard to spell, they make my brain go BASH, CRASH, CRACKLE and SNAP itself into two when spelling.

Fortunately, I spelled the word correctly every time, (when you take every letter I misspelled and put it together, it spells onomatopoeia)!