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EndlessWords
Sometimes we miss out the most beautiful things in life because we forget.
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Written by EndlessWords

See you, my friend

~~~~~

You no longer greet me

As I walk through the door.

You’re not there to make me smile,

To make me laugh 

anymore.

Life is quiet without you.

You were far more than a pet.

You were a family member, a friend,

A loving soul I’ll never forget.

It’ll take time to heal,

For the silence to go away.

I still listen for you,

And miss you every day.

You were such a great companion,

Loyal, loving and true.

And my heart will always wear,

The pawprints made by you.

~~~~~

I looked down at the piece of paper in my trembling hands, dropping the pen onto the table. I read it again and again, till droplets of water began forming on it. I tilted my head backwards, trying to force the tears back in, but the tears kept coming relentlessly as they streamed down my cheeks. 

A jingling sound jolted me alert. It can’t be. Charlie’s collar bell. I grabbed the leash on the table, my foolish heart hoping, just hoping that my bundle of joy would come back. The front door was wide open, welcoming.

But my crazy, energetic little friend never came in.

I looked down at the leash in my hand, a lost hope, a last memory. I closed my eyes, and all could hear was silence.

Dear Human?

I’ve crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

It’s nice here. But I’ll be waiting for you.

It's been a long day, without you my friend, and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. 

~~~~~

One by one, the days collect. Though, I don't fear death; 'cause it's the day we'll meet again. 

See you, my friend. 

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Written by EndlessWords
See you, my friend
~~~~~
You no longer greet me
As I walk through the door.
You’re not there to make me smile,
To make me laugh 
anymore.

Life is quiet without you.
You were far more than a pet.
You were a family member, a friend,
A loving soul I’ll never forget.

It’ll take time to heal,
For the silence to go away.
I still listen for you,
And miss you every day.

You were such a great companion,
Loyal, loving and true.
And my heart will always wear,
The pawprints made by you.
~~~~~
I looked down at the piece of paper in my trembling hands, dropping the pen onto the table. I read it again and again, till droplets of water began forming on it. I tilted my head backwards, trying to force the tears back in, but the tears kept coming relentlessly as they streamed down my cheeks. 

A jingling sound jolted me alert. It can’t be. Charlie’s collar bell. I grabbed the leash on the table, my foolish heart hoping, just hoping that my bundle of joy would come back. The front door was wide open, welcoming.

But my crazy, energetic little friend never came in.

I looked down at the leash in my hand, a lost hope, a last memory. I closed my eyes, and all could hear was silence.


Dear Human?
I’ve crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
It’s nice here. But I’ll be waiting for you.

It's been a long day, without you my friend, and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. 

~~~~~

One by one, the days collect. Though, I don't fear death; 'cause it's the day we'll meet again. 

See you, my friend. 
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Write in the perspective of a character who has psychological problems...
Written by EndlessWords

Suicide (DID)

You say I'm evil.

You say I'm a monster.

You blame me.

My name is Justine. My name is Emily.

The whole world blames me.

You blame me for the times Emily disappears.

For the times Emily cries because of me.

For the times she hurts herself.

But I did nothing. Nothing at all.

You called me a mere disease, a pest.

You said I was nothing.

You said I deserved to die.

All the times you called me Emily. All the times you threatened me. All the times you made me cry.

I endured it all. I did nothing back.

But you. Emily loved you, you monster .

You tried to kill me.

So I did what you fear most. Your deepest fear. I killed her.

Your dear Emily.

And she's never coming back.

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Write in the perspective of a character who has psychological problems...
Written by EndlessWords
Suicide (DID)
You say I'm evil.

You say I'm a monster.

You blame me.

My name is Justine. My name is Emily.

The whole world blames me.

You blame me for the times Emily disappears.

For the times Emily cries because of me.

For the times she hurts herself.

But I did nothing. Nothing at all.

You called me a mere disease, a pest.

You said I was nothing.

You said I deserved to die.

All the times you called me Emily. All the times you threatened me. All the times you made me cry.

I endured it all. I did nothing back.

But you. Emily loved you, you monster .

You tried to kill me.

So I did what you fear most. Your deepest fear. I killed her.

Your dear Emily.

And she's never coming back.
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Written by EndlessWords

Lullaby

Put me to sleep

And sing me a song.

The song you used to sing

Many years before.

Before they mocked you

Razed your efforts down to naught,

Sing me that song

From many years before.

La la la la la~~

Music to my ears.

Sing me that song

Reminisce about the years.

And if okay, tell me that it's fine.

Your years, your tears, your joy,

They've always been mine.

Continue, and move on without me,

Until the end of your time.

The years we spent together?

I never regretted that kind of life.

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Written by EndlessWords
Lullaby
Put me to sleep
And sing me a song.
The song you used to sing
Many years before.
Before they mocked you
Razed your efforts down to naught,
Sing me that song
From many years before.

La la la la la~~
Music to my ears.
Sing me that song
Reminisce about the years.

And if okay, tell me that it's fine.
Your years, your tears, your joy,
They've always been mine.
Continue, and move on without me,
Until the end of your time.

The years we spent together?
I never regretted that kind of life.
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It's record-breaking time. Together, we are going to break the world record for longest book. 100 word minimum. When this challenge gets 15,000 entries, it will expire, and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. The plot? It’s the first day of a zombie apocalypse, write a diary entry. Each contributor should share this challenge prompt with as many people as possible. If we break the world record, this will be read by people for generations to come.
Written by EndlessWords

Dear Daughter,

Hell. 

I don't know what to write. Or why I'm writing. I guess I hope someone sees this before I die. It's late and it's pretty bad out there. 

Who am I kidding? It's terrible.

The constant fear that one of them might get you. I heard it started here. It's a small island and we're going to be gone in a few days. I've seen them. They don't look any different from us, not like those in the movies. They just walk stiffly and their eyes, they're soulless, dead. 

Not empty but crazed. 

The street outside is empty, illuminated by the lamppost. God, I hope they come soon. The helicopters, I mean. The other countries are supposed to help us, but they're afraid too. If it starts in another country, it's practically the end. There's no turning back.

I'm hiding now. Wherever this place is. There's another guy here but he's sleeping. It's my turn to keep watch. My daughter's head rested on my lap, bringing back some hope. My wife's out there, alone. I hope she makes it. 

It's only been a day, but many are gone. The army's waiting for backup and there's nothing I can do but hope. 

I don't know how long this will last, I don't know when I'll see another zombie again. I don't know if Riley's even alive. Jesus. I don't know.

It's getting desperate up in here. The footsteps are coming closer. I can hear them while I'm writing. It's definitely another zombie. No sane person would walk the streets at night during the apocalypse. I don't know many things now, but I know two. One, a zombie does not fight with other zombies for food. Two, they can sense two things, humans and zombies.

Oh and last thing? I know it's going to turn away. The footsteps are growing fainter.

I'm gonna have to close this entry soon, I have to go. I'm sweating although it's 25 degrees in here. My right arm's hurting and I'm starting to bleed through the bandage from all this writing.

Well, the bite mark doesn't hurt that bad. It just stings. I have to go out now. I sense more zombies. 

I hope I can still come back tomorrow. If you see me, and I don't look at you like a father? 

Run.

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It's record-breaking time. Together, we are going to break the world record for longest book. 100 word minimum. When this challenge gets 15,000 entries, it will expire, and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. The plot? It’s the first day of a zombie apocalypse, write a diary entry. Each contributor should share this challenge prompt with as many people as possible. If we break the world record, this will be read by people for generations to come.
Written by EndlessWords
Dear Daughter,
Hell. 

I don't know what to write. Or why I'm writing. I guess I hope someone sees this before I die. It's late and it's pretty bad out there. 

Who am I kidding? It's terrible.

The constant fear that one of them might get you. I heard it started here. It's a small island and we're going to be gone in a few days. I've seen them. They don't look any different from us, not like those in the movies. They just walk stiffly and their eyes, they're soulless, dead. 

Not empty but crazed. 

The street outside is empty, illuminated by the lamppost. God, I hope they come soon. The helicopters, I mean. The other countries are supposed to help us, but they're afraid too. If it starts in another country, it's practically the end. There's no turning back.

I'm hiding now. Wherever this place is. There's another guy here but he's sleeping. It's my turn to keep watch. My daughter's head rested on my lap, bringing back some hope. My wife's out there, alone. I hope she makes it. 

It's only been a day, but many are gone. The army's waiting for backup and there's nothing I can do but hope. 

I don't know how long this will last, I don't know when I'll see another zombie again. I don't know if Riley's even alive. Jesus. I don't know.

It's getting desperate up in here. The footsteps are coming closer. I can hear them while I'm writing. It's definitely another zombie. No sane person would walk the streets at night during the apocalypse. I don't know many things now, but I know two. One, a zombie does not fight with other zombies for food. Two, they can sense two things, humans and zombies.

Oh and last thing? I know it's going to turn away. The footsteps are growing fainter.

I'm gonna have to close this entry soon, I have to go. I'm sweating although it's 25 degrees in here. My right arm's hurting and I'm starting to bleed through the bandage from all this writing.

Well, the bite mark doesn't hurt that bad. It just stings. I have to go out now. I sense more zombies. 

I hope I can still come back tomorrow. If you see me, and I don't look at you like a father? 

Run.
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Prose Challenge of the Week #51: Collabowrite. Write the synopsis for a Prose Collaborative Book where the genre is Psychological Thriller. The winner will be chosen purely on reads, likes, comments, and shares. See Challenge of the Week Post #52 for more details. The winner will receive $100 and 50% royalties for their chapter. Runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtags #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by EndlessWords

Lucid

The human state of consciousness and mind, top psychologist Dr. Jason Taylor’s major. Recognised throughout the country and the world, a renowned psychologist that’s the top of demand. On the outside, he’s calm, collected and has the looks and wealth of every man’s dreams. But him? He has no pleasant dreams to speak of.

The fear that binds him together, the one that sparked his interest in hypnotism, in the hopes of making his dreams disappear. Dreams. They aren’t just dreams. They are nightmares.

The darkness that shrouds him, the blood that always drenches his clothes. The horrifying screams that reverberate around wherever he is. The bodies, the smell. It’s something he finds familiar, although it’s impossible in the terms of parapsychology. It’s not possible. People can be recognised in dreams, but not settings.

It only links with one thing. His past. His past is also darkness, his family, his friends. Everything before the nightmares are unknown. Memories never came back, even the name Jason? He made that up. His knowledge is the only thing that can bring back the truth, the memories. Because if he doesn't do that. He will be driven insane by the aspect that he has nothing. That he is just an empty shell. Although that's what the truth is.

Until, his goal is averted from his attention. A failed experiment. Another parallel world. And a past he has to uncover. The things he has to find. The fears he has to face.This book will bring you on an incredible journey of trials and tribulations.

Jason Taylor’s job? To find out the truth in Lucid.

~~~~~~

Fear that binds you, fear that protects you and fear that scares you.

Cowards stay cowards until they're forced not to be.

What do you fear?

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Prose Challenge of the Week #51: Collabowrite. Write the synopsis for a Prose Collaborative Book where the genre is Psychological Thriller. The winner will be chosen purely on reads, likes, comments, and shares. See Challenge of the Week Post #52 for more details. The winner will receive $100 and 50% royalties for their chapter. Runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtags #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by EndlessWords
Lucid
The human state of consciousness and mind, top psychologist Dr. Jason Taylor’s major. Recognised throughout the country and the world, a renowned psychologist that’s the top of demand. On the outside, he’s calm, collected and has the looks and wealth of every man’s dreams. But him? He has no pleasant dreams to speak of.


The fear that binds him together, the one that sparked his interest in hypnotism, in the hopes of making his dreams disappear. Dreams. They aren’t just dreams. They are nightmares.


The darkness that shrouds him, the blood that always drenches his clothes. The horrifying screams that reverberate around wherever he is. The bodies, the smell. It’s something he finds familiar, although it’s impossible in the terms of parapsychology. It’s not possible. People can be recognised in dreams, but not settings.


It only links with one thing. His past. His past is also darkness, his family, his friends. Everything before the nightmares are unknown. Memories never came back, even the name Jason? He made that up. His knowledge is the only thing that can bring back the truth, the memories. Because if he doesn't do that. He will be driven insane by the aspect that he has nothing. That he is just an empty shell. Although that's what the truth is.


Until, his goal is averted from his attention. A failed experiment. Another parallel world. And a past he has to uncover. The things he has to find. The fears he has to face.This book will bring you on an incredible journey of trials and tribulations.

Jason Taylor’s job? To find out the truth in Lucid.


~~~~~~
Fear that binds you, fear that protects you and fear that scares you.

Cowards stay cowards until they're forced not to be.

What do you fear?
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Prose Challenge of the Week #50 : With Thanksgiving around the corner, write about a conversation around the table where a family secret is unfurled. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags #itslit #getlit #ProseChallenge
Written by EndlessWords

Cravings

"Hey where's Sara?" Peter asked from opposite the dining table. 

"She's cooking," I replied. 

"Why's she cooking? I thought you were treating us?" 

"She was wanted to be a part of it, I guess," I said, sticking my head out of the doorway to see Peter, Sara's boyfriend, sipping a glass of beer. "Just enjoy your beer with Josh, she'll be done cooking soon."

Josh and Peter shrugged continued drinking. 

~~~~~

"You said Sara was cooking, where's she?" asked Peter.

Not knowing how to answer his question, I simply said nothing.

Hearing that, Josh piped up,"Is that going to happen?"

"What do you mean?" inquired Peter chewing on a mouthful of meat.

"It's just that Sara and I've been to Aaron's family dinners a few times and his whole family always predicts that there'll be a missing person on the news the next day. And it always happened!"

"Go on," prompted Peter.

"Well Aaron's uncle was a policeman, and so he probably knew it before and was just messing with me and Sara."

"So...Sara's going to go missing?" laughed Peter. "I like you Aaron, you make pretty good jokes."

"Yeah, stop messing with us already, Sara. You can come out now!" yelled Josh for Sara to hear. He waited for a little while and spoke, friendly sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Well, she's definitely 'missing'. Maybe she's just right under our noses!"

At his statement, I laughed a little. He wasn't entirely wrong.

Peter saw me laugh and winked. "Nice one, Aaron. Though I'm pretty pissed that I'm not going to be able to eat with my girlfriend," he said, loud enough, hoping to lure Sara out. With no avail, he decided to avert my attention to another topic.

"Hey what meat is this?" he asked, prodding at the meat placed in front of him.

"Human," I replied.

"Again! You're using that joke again? It's getting old man," laughed Josh. Turning to Peter he explained, "You know, every time we ask that question, that'll be his answer. So we'd make sure every-" He was cut off as he saw Peter's expression, the pure horror on his face as he spat out the meat.

Josh was in stitches as he exclaimed, "You don't actually believe him do you?"

Peter looked at me with trepidation in his eyes as he sprinted out of my front door. By this time Josh was looking at me laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. "He actually believed you!" guffawed Josh.

All I could do was return him a laugh of my own.

Sometimes having someone finally understand you feels nice. But not this way. I guess Peter understood what meant by "She's cooking."

Clever guy, that Peter. You know what Sara? You'd gotten yourself a good boyfriend.

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Prose Challenge of the Week #50 : With Thanksgiving around the corner, write about a conversation around the table where a family secret is unfurled. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags #itslit #getlit #ProseChallenge
Written by EndlessWords
Cravings
"Hey where's Sara?" Peter asked from opposite the dining table. 

"She's cooking," I replied. 

"Why's she cooking? I thought you were treating us?" 

"She was wanted to be a part of it, I guess," I said, sticking my head out of the doorway to see Peter, Sara's boyfriend, sipping a glass of beer. "Just enjoy your beer with Josh, she'll be done cooking soon."

Josh and Peter shrugged continued drinking. 
~~~~~
"You said Sara was cooking, where's she?" asked Peter.

Not knowing how to answer his question, I simply said nothing.

Hearing that, Josh piped up,"Is that going to happen?"

"What do you mean?" inquired Peter chewing on a mouthful of meat.

"It's just that Sara and I've been to Aaron's family dinners a few times and his whole family always predicts that there'll be a missing person on the news the next day. And it always happened!"

"Go on," prompted Peter.

"Well Aaron's uncle was a policeman, and so he probably knew it before and was just messing with me and Sara."

"So...Sara's going to go missing?" laughed Peter. "I like you Aaron, you make pretty good jokes."

"Yeah, stop messing with us already, Sara. You can come out now!" yelled Josh for Sara to hear. He waited for a little while and spoke, friendly sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Well, she's definitely 'missing'. Maybe she's just right under our noses!"

At his statement, I laughed a little. He wasn't entirely wrong.

Peter saw me laugh and winked. "Nice one, Aaron. Though I'm pretty pissed that I'm not going to be able to eat with my girlfriend," he said, loud enough, hoping to lure Sara out. With no avail, he decided to avert my attention to another topic.

"Hey what meat is this?" he asked, prodding at the meat placed in front of him.

"Human," I replied.

"Again! You're using that joke again? It's getting old man," laughed Josh. Turning to Peter he explained, "You know, every time we ask that question, that'll be his answer. So we'd make sure every-" He was cut off as he saw Peter's expression, the pure horror on his face as he spat out the meat.

Josh was in stitches as he exclaimed, "You don't actually believe him do you?"

Peter looked at me with trepidation in his eyes as he sprinted out of my front door. By this time Josh was looking at me laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. "He actually believed you!" guffawed Josh.

All I could do was return him a laugh of my own.

Sometimes having someone finally understand you feels nice. But not this way. I guess Peter understood what meant by "She's cooking."

Clever guy, that Peter. You know what Sara? You'd gotten yourself a good boyfriend.





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Prose Challenge of the Week #49 : Use this sentence to inspire your piece of poetry or prose: "We are all broken." The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by EndlessWords

Love Me, Again.

I looked around me, the familiar surroundings. Pitch darkness and a musty scent. It had not changed for quite a while. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, my arms outstretched. It one of those days that I reminisce about the past.

It was like a dream.

Raucous laughter echoed throughout the room as we played together. It was just her and me. The days we ran around the lawn and the days we spent inside. The times we had fun till late at night and the times we just simply spoke. And of course, there were the times you hugged me with trembling hands while your parents argued outside. I simply accompanied you as you whimpered softly into the dark, dark night. It was simple, really. Me by your side. Enjoying our time together, not counting the minutes, not counting the seconds. When time flew by.

The memories went on, from the time I met her till since she abandoned me here. I looked at the floor my my side, a piece of my face just out of reach.

~~~~~

Time now crawls a second at a time, but I never stop hoping that she’ll come back here, and apologise. And we’ll go back home together, go back to the old times, and she’ll make my clock tick again. Tick tock, tick tock…

Children think toys are childish as they grow up. Something inanimate that can be thrown away.

The clocks ticks in the same rhythm as my heart. Irregularly.

The piece of me just lying there, as I imagine my face without it. I am broken. All toys are.

The hope that she’ll come back is fading. She’d probably already forgotten me. But the memories just keep coming back. 

When the toys are thrown away, they all break. Each and every one of them. Just like me.

The future seems bleak as the light fades. As I know in my heart that she’ll never come back. Though, I just can't help hoping.

Hoping for someone to come and dry my tears and mend my scars from long ago. 

The day that she left, not only my face broke. Something else shattered into dust.

Actually, you don’t have to apologise. Just come back. Come back to me.

My heart.

~~~~~

"Jane, Jane, love me again."

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Prose Challenge of the Week #49 : Use this sentence to inspire your piece of poetry or prose: "We are all broken." The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by EndlessWords
Love Me, Again.
I looked around me, the familiar surroundings. Pitch darkness and a musty scent. It had not changed for quite a while. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, my arms outstretched. It one of those days that I reminisce about the past.


It was like a dream.


Raucous laughter echoed throughout the room as we played together. It was just her and me. The days we ran around the lawn and the days we spent inside. The times we had fun till late at night and the times we just simply spoke. And of course, there were the times you hugged me with trembling hands while your parents argued outside. I simply accompanied you as you whimpered softly into the dark, dark night. It was simple, really. Me by your side. Enjoying our time together, not counting the minutes, not counting the seconds. When time flew by.


The memories went on, from the time I met her till since she abandoned me here. I looked at the floor my my side, a piece of my face just out of reach.

~~~~~
Time now crawls a second at a time, but I never stop hoping that she’ll come back here, and apologise. And we’ll go back home together, go back to the old times, and she’ll make my clock tick again. Tick tock, tick tock…


Children think toys are childish as they grow up. Something inanimate that can be thrown away.


The clocks ticks in the same rhythm as my heart. Irregularly.


The piece of me just lying there, as I imagine my face without it. I am broken. All toys are.


The hope that she’ll come back is fading. She’d probably already forgotten me. But the memories just keep coming back. 


When the toys are thrown away, they all break. Each and every one of them. Just like me.


The future seems bleak as the light fades. As I know in my heart that she’ll never come back. Though, I just can't help hoping.


Hoping for someone to come and dry my tears and mend my scars from long ago. 


The day that she left, not only my face broke. Something else shattered into dust.


Actually, you don’t have to apologise. Just come back. Come back to me.


My heart.
~~~~~
"Jane, Jane, love me again."
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Written by EndlessWords in portal Philosophy

Dreams

In our youths

we write tales of passion and

Love because

we dream of that.

But what is the reason we don't now? 

It really makes us wonder, if dreams really do come true. 

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Written by EndlessWords in portal Philosophy
Dreams
In our youths
we write tales of passion and
Love because
we dream of that.

But what is the reason we don't now? 
It really makes us wonder, if dreams really do come true. 
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Chapter 1 of The Loudest Silence
Written by EndlessWords

Prologue

The wind chimes rang, the tinkling sound they made brightening the day.

There was a little girl. Playing her keyboard, the day ironically beautiful. The sounds emitted from the keyboard were astoundingly light, carrying the sounds far away. Note by note the song went on as if it had no end, an infinite melody.

The melodious sounds was abruptly cut off, replaced by the muffled screams of the girl. She struggled in the arms of a man, lean but extremely strong. The cloth pressed against her nose slowly did it's work as her limbs went limp. Her struggling slowly ceased and all there was, was the sound of a van leaving the driveway.

~~~~~~

The cellar was dark and terrifyingly quiet. There was nothing she could do. She looked down at the bloodied red line across her palm as she listened to the steady breathing of the man in the corner. He would come with a cane every time she cried out or tried to escape.

As she hummed to herself in the absence of her instruments, a tear ran down her dirtied cheeks. The little girl was afraid. Petrified.

Not of the darkness, not of the insects.

Not even of the man in the corner.

But of the silence.

~~~~~

Years later, the little girl had grown up. Through countless trophies and countless certificates in music, she had changed in many ways. Two things were the same. Her love of the sounds of music.

And that fact that she was still afraid.

~~~~~~

The girl screamed and yelled, but she could not hear anything. She could see mouths opening and closing around her, but no sound came out of them. There was only silence.

Finally, she gave up. No sound came to her ears. Silence engulfed all. Only a void of emptiness and an abyss of infinity lay before her.

The girl's breaths became short, haggard. Dizziness overcame her as she collapsed in a heap on the bed. Bile rose up in her throat as she gagged. But there was still no sound. She knew the truth of what had happened to her. The truth was the truth and it did not matter whether she believed it or not.

But this time she believed it wasn't the end, as a pair of arms hugged her from behind.

~~~~~

People spoke of appreciating silence. But it was what the girl feared most. For it represented her darkest nightmare from a long, long time ago.

Most couldn't fathom how silence could be loud. To them, the idea was just... paradoxical. But she could. The shadowed man she couldn't recognize and the silence she couldn't stand. She feared both a long time ago.

She had forgotten and put it back into the past, though she still avoided silence whenever she could, more like, she always avoided silence. No matter what, she would make sure there was always sound around her, even if it were just the sounds of people chattering around her. 

No one can run away from her past forever; it always finds a way to catch up to her. 

Now, when her past has caught up to her, what will she choose? Flight or fight? 

The silence that comes with darkness is the one to fear.

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Chapter 1 of The Loudest Silence
Written by EndlessWords
Prologue
The wind chimes rang, the tinkling sound they made brightening the day.

There was a little girl. Playing her keyboard, the day ironically beautiful. The sounds emitted from the keyboard were astoundingly light, carrying the sounds far away. Note by note the song went on as if it had no end, an infinite melody.

The melodious sounds was abruptly cut off, replaced by the muffled screams of the girl. She struggled in the arms of a man, lean but extremely strong. The cloth pressed against her nose slowly did it's work as her limbs went limp. Her struggling slowly ceased and all there was, was the sound of a van leaving the driveway.

~~~~~~

The cellar was dark and terrifyingly quiet. There was nothing she could do. She looked down at the bloodied red line across her palm as she listened to the steady breathing of the man in the corner. He would come with a cane every time she cried out or tried to escape.

As she hummed to herself in the absence of her instruments, a tear ran down her dirtied cheeks. The little girl was afraid. Petrified.

Not of the darkness, not of the insects.

Not even of the man in the corner.

But of the silence.

~~~~~

Years later, the little girl had grown up. Through countless trophies and countless certificates in music, she had changed in many ways. Two things were the same. Her love of the sounds of music.



And that fact that she was still afraid.

~~~~~~

The girl screamed and yelled, but she could not hear anything. She could see mouths opening and closing around her, but no sound came out of them. There was only silence.

Finally, she gave up. No sound came to her ears. Silence engulfed all. Only a void of emptiness and an abyss of infinity lay before her.

The girl's breaths became short, haggard. Dizziness overcame her as she collapsed in a heap on the bed. Bile rose up in her throat as she gagged. But there was still no sound. She knew the truth of what had happened to her. The truth was the truth and it did not matter whether she believed it or not.

But this time she believed it wasn't the end, as a pair of arms hugged her from behind.

~~~~~

People spoke of appreciating silence. But it was what the girl feared most. For it represented her darkest nightmare from a long, long time ago.

Most couldn't fathom how silence could be loud. To them, the idea was just... paradoxical. But she could. The shadowed man she couldn't recognize and the silence she couldn't stand. She feared both a long time ago.


She had forgotten and put it back into the past, though she still avoided silence whenever she could, more like, she always avoided silence. No matter what, she would make sure there was always sound around her, even if it were just the sounds of people chattering around her. 

No one can run away from her past forever; it always finds a way to catch up to her. 

Now, when her past has caught up to her, what will she choose? Flight or fight? 

The silence that comes with darkness is the one to fear.



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Chapter 1 of Among The Stars In Our Sky
Written by EndlessWords

Prologue

You are careless.

You are absent-minded.

You are forgetful.

You have a problem.

You have no brain.

All of these just to end up in one statement.

You are sick.

I am. It's incurable.

And it's Alzheimer's disease.

~~~~~

As I walked along the corridors, I could hear their frequent murmurs. Murmurs about me. How I was sick. How I was diseased.

I strolled into my class and plopped into my usual seat. I caught the gaze of my "best friend". She didn't even acknowledge me. It was as if I wasn't there.

At that moment, Mrs Coleman walked in and stared at me incredulously. "What are you doing here?" she asked. As if she was the one with rapidly progressive dementia.

"Um... for school?" I answered.

Mrs Coleman sighed. "Didn't your mother tell you that you are not supposed to come to school anymore?"

I shook my head numbly. I stood up and walked out of the classroom in shock.

~~~~~~

What I saw forced tears out of my eyes. My room, which was filled with post-it notes just to remind me of the simplest things, had an enormous white board. On it read, 'Don't go to school'. The ink still slightly damp, in my own lucid handwriting.

Help me. I sobbed and slumped on my bed. I had forgotten. I had written it just as I woke up and had forgotten in the next hour. I clamped my hands around my head and hit the wall repeatedly.

Why can't I remember? Why? Why am I that 0.001% that contracted this disease?

Hot tears flowed down my already damp cheeks. I hated it. As I pounded my fists on my head, I felt two hands grasp me by the waist. Those large, calloused hands that could only belong to one person.

"Stop it, Astraea! Stop," his voice trembled. It was my father.

I turned around and held him close to me. Never wanting to let go, never wanting to forget. He was fading away, like me. The years we wearing him down, my tantrums too. The creases on his forehead showed it all.

When I let go, my father's lips were curved into a rueful smile. One that I had not seen for a long, long time. Seeing his rare smile, I smiled too.

He wiped my tears away and whispered, "Don't hurt yourself, OK? It's not worth it. To me, you are always, always brilliant,"

For the second time that day, I smiled.

Even if I forgot everything, I have a wish. One simple request.

For someone to remember me.

No one but my father would do that, and I wanted somebody else. Call me greedy, but that is my final wish. Before I forget. I want them to remember me for who I am and love me for what had happened to me.

I looked around my room as my dad left. It was filled with teddy bears. "Get well soon" teddy bears.

Ironic. Isn't it?

I took out paper, pens and string.

And I started to write.

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Juice
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Chapter 1 of Among The Stars In Our Sky
Written by EndlessWords
Prologue
You are careless.

You are absent-minded.

You are forgetful.

You have a problem.

You have no brain.

All of these just to end up in one statement.

You are sick.

I am. It's incurable.

And it's Alzheimer's disease.

~~~~~

As I walked along the corridors, I could hear their frequent murmurs. Murmurs about me. How I was sick. How I was diseased.

I strolled into my class and plopped into my usual seat. I caught the gaze of my "best friend". She didn't even acknowledge me. It was as if I wasn't there.

At that moment, Mrs Coleman walked in and stared at me incredulously. "What are you doing here?" she asked. As if she was the one with rapidly progressive dementia.

"Um... for school?" I answered.

Mrs Coleman sighed. "Didn't your mother tell you that you are not supposed to come to school anymore?"

I shook my head numbly. I stood up and walked out of the classroom in shock.

~~~~~~

What I saw forced tears out of my eyes. My room, which was filled with post-it notes just to remind me of the simplest things, had an enormous white board. On it read, 'Don't go to school'. The ink still slightly damp, in my own lucid handwriting.

Help me. I sobbed and slumped on my bed. I had forgotten. I had written it just as I woke up and had forgotten in the next hour. I clamped my hands around my head and hit the wall repeatedly.

Why can't I remember? Why? Why am I that 0.001% that contracted this disease?

Hot tears flowed down my already damp cheeks. I hated it. As I pounded my fists on my head, I felt two hands grasp me by the waist. Those large, calloused hands that could only belong to one person.

"Stop it, Astraea! Stop," his voice trembled. It was my father.

I turned around and held him close to me. Never wanting to let go, never wanting to forget. He was fading away, like me. The years we wearing him down, my tantrums too. The creases on his forehead showed it all.

When I let go, my father's lips were curved into a rueful smile. One that I had not seen for a long, long time. Seeing his rare smile, I smiled too.

He wiped my tears away and whispered, "Don't hurt yourself, OK? It's not worth it. To me, you are always, always brilliant,"

For the second time that day, I smiled.

Even if I forgot everything, I have a wish. One simple request.

For someone to remember me.

No one but my father would do that, and I wanted somebody else. Call me greedy, but that is my final wish. Before I forget. I want them to remember me for who I am and love me for what had happened to me.

I looked around my room as my dad left. It was filled with teddy bears. "Get well soon" teddy bears.

Ironic. Isn't it?

I took out paper, pens and string.

And I started to write.


8
2
0
Juice
33 reads
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