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)!

"Listen up everybody. I'm only going to say this once; don't quit. Down 2, with only 10 seconds left in the game. I want you all to treasure each moment out there."

Well that's easy for you to say, 'coach.' you're not a player; you're not on the battlefield, putting every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears just for a basket. Just for some stupid trophy.

"Now here's the plan-"

Screw the plan.

"-Bryan, you have 40 points already and stand notorious as the most clutch; so- and I know it may sound stupid- but I want you to bring the ball up. This will force these 2 players on the right defensive end to naturally double team you. When that happens, pass that big old rock out to Adon. From there, Adon drive straight to the basket, and try to get as many players on you as possible. logically, Lamar will attempt a double team, so from Adon, straight to Anthony-"

Never mind, that's actually a good plan.

"-And Anthony: take the shot."

Heh, no sweat. Totally can do that. It's not like my entire life is depending on this. It's whatever; y'know. I can do this.

I can do this.

I can-

"Hey Anthony, don't mess up that shot"

Oh, stop acting like you ain't got no pressure on yourself too, Bryan.

"You think this is easy, golden boy? Ok, fine. Let's see how you do it when I pass the ball back to you."

"Bet."

That damn kid is so annoying. He's only been playing for two months and everybody believes he's the next Jordan or something. For once, I wish this kid would shut up about his stupid accolades and feats.

"The game is back on. The paper city Bears are trailing behind Glass-Eyes by 2 points. 10 seconds left on the clock; what do you think there going to do, Stan?"

"I don't know. Their coach is so unpredictable that if the Bears just start pulling down their opponents pants, I wouldn't be surprised!"

"I don't know about pulling down pants, -or why you would bring that up- but it seems the bears are pulling off a bold move nonetheless. Bryan's bringing the ball up!"

"Bold indeed, as he squares off with 2 tough defensive opponents, swiping away at the ball. But look, Adon is open"

"And Bryan passes it straight to him! Man, that kid can pass, am I right?"

"Yes, Jack you are right-"

"That was theoretical, Stan."

"I know, but that's not important right now, Jack. What's really important is what happened in less time than it takes an average reader to scroll down a 698 word story, Anthony's got the ball, and he is wide open! Take the shot!"

I got the ball, but ain't taking the shot.

1.2 seconds are left on the clock, though it feels like years are passing by. I take a look around and I see my mom. She's been working 24/7 for her entire life just to get me in this college. I see my girlfriend. I've known her since kindergarten; I used to gag at the sight of her, and now I don't care what she looks like. I see my city standing up and cheering. The same city that gave me and mom a place to call home. I see my coach. Though annoying, I would never be as good as I am today without him. Lastly, I look at the ball. This is the sport that got me through the bad times, when dad never showed up or when grades started to fail. Sometimes, this ball was all I had.

Am I really going to quit on all these people now?

Then I look at Bryan, who just stands there with that grin. That stupid grin, with that stupid hair, and that stupid face. He puts his L shaped hand above his face and spits his saliva towards me. Disgusting

My face grows red and in an instant, I perform a magic trick. POOF, the ball is no longer in my hands; its palming the face of Bryan.

"I QUIT!" I said as I took off the VR headset.

Creation at its tip, formed in the black

to foil the tree whose branch branches out

and leave leaves to grow outside, where the hack

and slash bring down one more for advances.

A 2D shape that can tremble a heart,

Or push a yawn out, towards its maker,

thus stands this stereotype they call art,

The type that makes a neighbor a traitor

All is made done by the creator's tool,

Their source of cents, built by their sense,

By their emotion that fulfills as fuel,

Like train engines: whose power is intense

But what of the mental mind behind lead

that forms my voice and forces me to read

My heart beats out of my chest, sweeping me off my feet like a broom. Although, even if I were to sweep this room, she would be cleaner. The vivid red.

His heart beats out of his chest; bones almost fly out. His legs, like spaghetti, fling themselves as if they have a mind of their own, or like a dog, searching for some poop to eat. The vivid red.

There is nothing in this world that can compare to her. Even the four white walls surrounding us bow, understanding that they hold the greatest secret the world has yet to uncover. The vivid red.

Any place in this world would be a better place than in there, where he and she stay content with one another. I had to get out of the room, though barely standing. My back hunched because my stomach punched itself just looking at it. And the smell, well my nose nearly suffocated itself. The vivid red.

I opened the window to watch the air press against her hair. It was green, and shined so bright, the sun had to blink. Soon, a mockingbird flew by, and in an attempt, tried to sing a tune that could match her, though there was none. I tell you, even ask the mirror, 'whose the fairest of them all' and you would get a picture of her. Her skinny legs but large chest; she is perfect. The vivid red.

There was no window. He spent days carving out a window from the thick padded walls. He did this with a spoon. A spoon! And once he and her saw the outside world, the sun had dropped down faster than a bullet. Only a raven came to visit. The bird of death itself; and yet when the raven tried to speak, it choked and died. I tell you, even the mirror in the public washroom broke after the incident; when he snuck her in there. With her stick legs but fat chest; she is a monster. The vivid red.

I will never tell you such a secret, just a hint...

*looks around*

But I am only telling you, ok?

*quickly rushes you into a dark room*

Alright here goes nothing...

*Deep breath intensifies*

So,

you know that kid,

Peter.

Peter P-

*Head Shakes Violent*

Sorry, my head shakes when I'm Nervous...

*Sweat drips from forehead as I look around this empty dark room*

Nobody's here, right?

Anyways-

*Bell rings*

Oh! Class is about to start;

sorry got to go...

Fine...

But listen closely.

I'm just saying... I have never seen Peter Parker and Batman in the same room.

Just saying...

“I love you Adam, but this thing-”

“I know Maria... I know.”

-

Ugh, I need to stop this. That was the fifth romantic flick I have seen today.

-

“So go. But know this; I will always be here waiting for you. Our children’s children will know our tale.”

“Oh Adam.”

-

“Oh Brad.”

Who’s Brad. Wait, that did not come from the movie. Someone else was in the theatre with me! Sweat pours off my forehead like a waterfall. I look around me, and-

Oh.

It’s my crush with some guy.

Or so is my assumption.

I sit farther back into my seat and cover my face with popcorn.

“Stop it Brad, someone might be in here.”

“Ha, yeah right. Who would want to watch such a old and lame movie like this?”

Me.

“Umm... me. Thats why we are here for date night.”

“Your right.”

Damn, how can a guy like that, with no care for who their partner is, get a girl like her. I know I can do better than this guy; I can just picture how I would treat her. I close my eyes and imagine it all.

“Hold on Brad, someone keeps calling me”

I open my eyes and-

How!? I’ve teleported about, um, 10 inches into the seat on my left and my lips are touching my crush’s-

Uh oh...