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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JenJen132

Through the Killers' Eyes

“You spotted her the moment she walked in, didn’t you, Elliot?”

His emerald hues shifted on to his father, who wore an all-knowing smirk across his lips. It was evident he had been referring to the brunette that had just come waltzing through the door of the rest stop by herself. His dad was right. Elliot had noticed her the moment she came in from the pouring rain outside, closing her umbrella as the door swung shut behind her.

There was just something about her that caught his attention almost instantly.

“Funny. Here I thought you only paid attention to blondes,” he quipped in response.

“Just because I prefer them,” he nodded towards a group of young blondes that were seated a few tables down from them, “doesn’t mean I don’t notice them,” his gaze went towards where the girl was waiting in line for food.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.

For as long as he could remember, his father preferred the easy ones. The ones that could be lured away with just a few sweet words…along with the fact that their hair color be a shade of blonde. He couldn’t remember a time that his father had picked a brunette out of a crowd and taken her as his victim. It has always been a blonde.

Elliot, on the other hand, could care less about what the hair color was. In the last town they left, he'd taken the life of a redhead and in the town before that, it just so happened to be a blonde.

The only thing Elliot cared about was the thrill of the chase. It had been different in the beginning of all this, he was all for taking the easy route, but it grew boring. Now he preferred to stalk his prey, get to know them, gain their trust, before bringing about their demise.

His father preferred to just go in for the kill and be done with it.

Though he was the one that raised Elliot into this lifestyle, they had differing opinions on how they went about it.

“Are you going over there or are you just going to sit around gawking?”

He was pulled out of his reverie from the sound of his dad’s voice. Elliot's jaw clenched at his words. Sending a scowl in his father's direction, he snatched up his cup, which actually wasn’t even empty yet, and pushed to his feet to make his way over to the soda fountain where she now stood, contemplating her options.

His breath caught at their close proximity. Her back was turned to him and if he were to simply stretch his arm forward, his fingers would be able to touch her silky, mahogany locks. Inhaling deeply, her scent washed over him. Despite it being a downpour outside, Elliot was reminded of a warm, spring day, and reflexively he took a single step closer.

That's when she turned around.

They collided. Both of their cups were uncovered and the contents of both were crushed between their bodies. The liquids within each spilled down the fronts of their shirts, though she somehow managed to get more on her.

She jumped back reflexively, back pressing into the metal counter behind her, and a startled look flashing across her face. Elliot, in turn, stepped back with a dumbfounded expression etched across his features.

“I’m so sorry," he quickly responded, stepping to the side of her to grab some napkins from the dispenser.

“I didn’t even see you there!” She replied, angling her body towards his.

Their gazes met. Her hues were a chocolate brown, but they were the most beautiful shade of which he had ever seen. Elliot knew right then that he'd made the right decision.

She was going to be his next victim.

He couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips at the thought. At the same moment, her lips lifted into an amused smile, which surprised him in the slightest.

“It was my fault honestly,” he said smoothly, handing the napkins off to her, which she graciously accepted. “You don’t have eyes on the back of your head. You can’t be blamed for not seeing me there.”

“This is sort of the norm for me, really.” She turned her gaze away from him and down towards her wet shirt, which she began to dab at with the napkins. “Klutz is practically my middle name.”

A light chuckle trickled through his lips as he took up a couple napkins of his own and began to dry up his own shirt. Not that he really cared about it being wet. Presently he was more fixated upon the female before him,

“I’m sure your middle name is much prettier than that.”

Crimson rose in her cheeks immediately and her hands began to slow in their movements. A moment later, her head lifted and their gazes met once more. She crushed the napkins into one of her hands and stuck her other one out towards him. A warm smile lifted the corners of her lips heavenwards and the raven-haired male stuck his free hand into hers.

“I’m Andrea.”

“Elliot,” he responded with a dazzling smile, giving her hand a light shake before letting it go entirely, as much as he desired to hold it longer.

“You know, I’m beginning to think this whole thing was just a ploy to meet me,” she teased lightheartedly, evoking another chuckle from him.

“You caught me,” he held his hands out in front of him. “I planned all of this just to talk to you rather than simply going up to you like a normal person would.”

Normal—a term that would never be used to describe him.

A light laugh trickled through her lips, “Who’s to say I would have talked to you under normal meeting circumstances?”

“Ouch,” he feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Would’ve been your loss.”

“Someone’s awfully confident,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully; Elliot smirked. 

“Anyway, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’m just going to try to get this stain out a bit in the bathroom.”

“Well, maybe we can continue this conversation afterwards. I’m sitting at a table back there with my dad…or we could even get a table of our own.”

“I’ll think about it,” she responded before stepping past him and crossing to the corner where the bathrooms were.

He watched as she went. It was only after she disappeared past the door that Elliot finally moved back to the table. His father was waiting expectantly as he plopped back down into his chair.

Sitting forward slightly, he made a gesticulation for him to elaborate on what happened. A faint smile spread across Elliot's lips as he folded his arms atop the table and met his gaze.

“I’m more than sure I have my in with her.”

“I’ll think about it,” her response played over in his head. Something about the way she said it gave him the impression that she had already decided.

As he waited to see if his original guess was right, Elliot gave his father the rundown of what happened. It didn’t take long to get through it and the moment he finished, he caught sight of her exiting the bathroom through the corner of his eye. Being discreet, he watched as she crossed back to the food place, got a new cup and filled it with whatever she originally intended to get.

“Well?” His father raised an inquisitive brow.

“I was right.”

The moment she spotted where they were sitting, she began to close the distance separating them.

Their eyes met. A smile spread across her lips. A smirk spread across his. Across from him, his father wore a smirk mirroring the one on his son's face. Everything was falling into place just as Elliot suspected it would.

“Hi,” she waved slightly, standing to the side of their table. “I’m Andrea.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Elliot’s father, Roy.” He wore a charming smile, “Please, take a seat. Elliot here was just telling me about the drink incident.”

“Certainly one way to get a girl’s attention,” she remarked, laughing under her breath.

Across the table, he met his father’s gaze and based on his expression, he knew he'd picked well.

Soon, that was the only word that whispered through his mind as the three of them conversed with each other. This was just the beginning of the end for her and she was completely oblivious to it all.

Little did he know that she had a secret of her own, though...she was a serial killer, too.

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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JenJen132
Through the Killers' Eyes
“You spotted her the moment she walked in, didn’t you, Elliot?”

His emerald hues shifted on to his father, who wore an all-knowing smirk across his lips. It was evident he had been referring to the brunette that had just come waltzing through the door of the rest stop by herself. His dad was right. Elliot had noticed her the moment she came in from the pouring rain outside, closing her umbrella as the door swung shut behind her.

There was just something about her that caught his attention almost instantly.

“Funny. Here I thought you only paid attention to blondes,” he quipped in response.

“Just because I prefer them,” he nodded towards a group of young blondes that were seated a few tables down from them, “doesn’t mean I don’t notice them,” his gaze went towards where the girl was waiting in line for food.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.

For as long as he could remember, his father preferred the easy ones. The ones that could be lured away with just a few sweet words…along with the fact that their hair color be a shade of blonde. He couldn’t remember a time that his father had picked a brunette out of a crowd and taken her as his victim. It has always been a blonde.

Elliot, on the other hand, could care less about what the hair color was. In the last town they left, he'd taken the life of a redhead and in the town before that, it just so happened to be a blonde.

The only thing Elliot cared about was the thrill of the chase. It had been different in the beginning of all this, he was all for taking the easy route, but it grew boring. Now he preferred to stalk his prey, get to know them, gain their trust, before bringing about their demise.

His father preferred to just go in for the kill and be done with it.

Though he was the one that raised Elliot into this lifestyle, they had differing opinions on how they went about it.

“Are you going over there or are you just going to sit around gawking?”

He was pulled out of his reverie from the sound of his dad’s voice. Elliot's jaw clenched at his words. Sending a scowl in his father's direction, he snatched up his cup, which actually wasn’t even empty yet, and pushed to his feet to make his way over to the soda fountain where she now stood, contemplating her options.

His breath caught at their close proximity. Her back was turned to him and if he were to simply stretch his arm forward, his fingers would be able to touch her silky, mahogany locks. Inhaling deeply, her scent washed over him. Despite it being a downpour outside, Elliot was reminded of a warm, spring day, and reflexively he took a single step closer.

That's when she turned around.

They collided. Both of their cups were uncovered and the contents of both were crushed between their bodies. The liquids within each spilled down the fronts of their shirts, though she somehow managed to get more on her.

She jumped back reflexively, back pressing into the metal counter behind her, and a startled look flashing across her face. Elliot, in turn, stepped back with a dumbfounded expression etched across his features.

“I’m so sorry," he quickly responded, stepping to the side of her to grab some napkins from the dispenser.

“I didn’t even see you there!” She replied, angling her body towards his.

Their gazes met. Her hues were a chocolate brown, but they were the most beautiful shade of which he had ever seen. Elliot knew right then that he'd made the right decision.

She was going to be his next victim.

He couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips at the thought. At the same moment, her lips lifted into an amused smile, which surprised him in the slightest.

“It was my fault honestly,” he said smoothly, handing the napkins off to her, which she graciously accepted. “You don’t have eyes on the back of your head. You can’t be blamed for not seeing me there.”

“This is sort of the norm for me, really.” She turned her gaze away from him and down towards her wet shirt, which she began to dab at with the napkins. “Klutz is practically my middle name.”

A light chuckle trickled through his lips as he took up a couple napkins of his own and began to dry up his own shirt. Not that he really cared about it being wet. Presently he was more fixated upon the female before him,

“I’m sure your middle name is much prettier than that.”

Crimson rose in her cheeks immediately and her hands began to slow in their movements. A moment later, her head lifted and their gazes met once more. She crushed the napkins into one of her hands and stuck her other one out towards him. A warm smile lifted the corners of her lips heavenwards and the raven-haired male stuck his free hand into hers.

“I’m Andrea.”

“Elliot,” he responded with a dazzling smile, giving her hand a light shake before letting it go entirely, as much as he desired to hold it longer.

“You know, I’m beginning to think this whole thing was just a ploy to meet me,” she teased lightheartedly, evoking another chuckle from him.

“You caught me,” he held his hands out in front of him. “I planned all of this just to talk to you rather than simply going up to you like a normal person would.”

Normal—a term that would never be used to describe him.

A light laugh trickled through her lips, “Who’s to say I would have talked to you under normal meeting circumstances?”

“Ouch,” he feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Would’ve been your loss.”

“Someone’s awfully confident,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully; Elliot smirked. 
“Anyway, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’m just going to try to get this stain out a bit in the bathroom.”

“Well, maybe we can continue this conversation afterwards. I’m sitting at a table back there with my dad…or we could even get a table of our own.”

“I’ll think about it,” she responded before stepping past him and crossing to the corner where the bathrooms were.

He watched as she went. It was only after she disappeared past the door that Elliot finally moved back to the table. His father was waiting expectantly as he plopped back down into his chair.

Sitting forward slightly, he made a gesticulation for him to elaborate on what happened. A faint smile spread across Elliot's lips as he folded his arms atop the table and met his gaze.

“I’m more than sure I have my in with her.”

“I’ll think about it,” her response played over in his head. Something about the way she said it gave him the impression that she had already decided.

As he waited to see if his original guess was right, Elliot gave his father the rundown of what happened. It didn’t take long to get through it and the moment he finished, he caught sight of her exiting the bathroom through the corner of his eye. Being discreet, he watched as she crossed back to the food place, got a new cup and filled it with whatever she originally intended to get.

“Well?” His father raised an inquisitive brow.

“I was right.”

The moment she spotted where they were sitting, she began to close the distance separating them.

Their eyes met. A smile spread across her lips. A smirk spread across his. Across from him, his father wore a smirk mirroring the one on his son's face. Everything was falling into place just as Elliot suspected it would.

“Hi,” she waved slightly, standing to the side of their table. “I’m Andrea.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Elliot’s father, Roy.” He wore a charming smile, “Please, take a seat. Elliot here was just telling me about the drink incident.”

“Certainly one way to get a girl’s attention,” she remarked, laughing under her breath.

Across the table, he met his father’s gaze and based on his expression, he knew he'd picked well.

Soon, that was the only word that whispered through his mind as the three of them conversed with each other. This was just the beginning of the end for her and she was completely oblivious to it all.


Little did he know that she had a secret of her own, though...she was a serial killer, too.
#mystery  #prosechallenge 
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What's the scariest story you can come up with in only 15 words
Written by JenJen132 in portal Horror & Thriller

Déjà Vu

She'd been here before. Only in dreams, though.

She always died.

This wasn't a dream...

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What's the scariest story you can come up with in only 15 words
Written by JenJen132 in portal Horror & Thriller
Déjà Vu
She'd been here before. Only in dreams, though.
She always died.


This wasn't a dream...
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There, Their, They're Challenge Use each homynym once. I would say that the challenge is to use them correctly, but you're writers... Have fun!
Written by JenJen132 in portal Poetry & Free Verse

An Unfortunate Event

"There's my car!" She exclaimed excitedly. 

"Oh," her face fell when another couple opened the doors, "that's their car."

This time when she hit the button on her keys, she actually spotted it.

"Crap! They're towing me!" She ran towards the truck, shouting for the driver to stop.

He didn't.

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There, Their, They're Challenge Use each homynym once. I would say that the challenge is to use them correctly, but you're writers... Have fun!
Written by JenJen132 in portal Poetry & Free Verse
An Unfortunate Event
"There's my car!" She exclaimed excitedly. 
"Oh," her face fell when another couple opened the doors, "that's their car."
This time when she hit the button on her keys, she actually spotted it.
"Crap! They're towing me!" She ran towards the truck, shouting for the driver to stop.
He didn't.

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Written by JenJen132 in portal Stream of Consciousness

Dark vs. Light

What if daylight shrouded monsters?

Made them invisible,

Unable to be seen,

Saving us from seeing their hideous face,

Yet, inevitably, making them harder to stop.

What if the dark revealed them?

Made them visible,

Allowed them to be seen,

As gruesome or terrible as they may appear,

And, therefore, made them easier to stop.

Would the dark still be your greatest fear

and daylight still your salvation?

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Written by JenJen132 in portal Stream of Consciousness
Dark vs. Light
What if daylight shrouded monsters?
Made them invisible,
Unable to be seen,
Saving us from seeing their hideous face,
Yet, inevitably, making them harder to stop.

What if the dark revealed them?
Made them visible,
Allowed them to be seen,
As gruesome or terrible as they may appear,
And, therefore, made them easier to stop.

Would the dark still be your greatest fear
and daylight still your salvation?


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Cliches exist in almost every genre for movies, let's write about them! It can be whichever genre you choose, I'd just like to see which ones others have picked up on!
Written by JenJen132

How Cliché

1. The walking killer always catches the running victim.

Victim could have a twenty minute head start and somehow the killer would still manage to catch them. What’s going on behind the scenes? Has the killer somehow learned to teleport places? Because that’s sure as hell how it seems in some instances.

2. “Be right back” = “Be back never”

These three little words are essentially a death sentence. Once uttered, there’s no turning back. You’re dead. That’s it. Better to just leave without saying anything than to say these three words.

3. “Let’s have sex in this abandoned insane asylum, nothing bad could possibly happen!”

Yeah…sex in a horror movie is basically a death sentence. Going to an abandoned place? DON’T HAVE SEX. Going to a cabin in the woods with friends? DON’T HAVE SEX. You will be the couple that dies. Just keep your hormones in check and wait until you’re NOT in a horror movie-esque predicament.

4. “Hello?” “Hold on, just putting my hockey mask back on, be right there.”

If you go into some random place (abandoned or otherwise) or if you hear what sounds like someone breaking into your home, DON’T YELL ‘HELLO.’ The burglar/killer is, more than likely, NOT going to reply. And if you’re stupid enough to think they will, it’s no wonder you were killed.

5. The girl who can do nothing more than scream while her friend fights off the killer…and ends up dead.

It’s always in the last moment that the girl finally shuts up and does something helpful. By then, IT’S TOO LATE. The friend is dead. Because all the girl could do was scream instead of trying to help. Had she stepped in a moment sooner, perhaps both could’ve survived. In some cases, both do, but the friend is usually pretty badly injured because of how unhelpful the screaming girl was.

6. Gets friends killed by making stupid decisions…Ends up being the one who lives.

Typical. The person who makes the worst decisions is the one who survives to the end. Not in all instances, but there’s a good majority. Why couldn’t the person who’d been sensible throughout survive? Oh, right, because the one who’d been stupid made a decision that got them killed.

7. “Let’s split up because being by yourself when there’s a lunatic around is definitely better than staying in a group!”

Makes total sense. Because one-on-one is DEFINITELY better than five-on-one, right? Apparently.

8. Victim has opportunity to run outside…instead runs upstairs.

Good choice. Front door is right there, killer hasn’t spotted you yet and you choose to run UPSTAIRS instead of OUTSIDE to safety. You deserve a round of applause.

While not all horror movies have these clichés (and there’s certainly more out there), a good portion of them do and it’s frustrating. I want more horror movies where the characters make all the right decisions and still end up dead.

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Cliches exist in almost every genre for movies, let's write about them! It can be whichever genre you choose, I'd just like to see which ones others have picked up on!
Written by JenJen132
How Cliché
1. The walking killer always catches the running victim.
Victim could have a twenty minute head start and somehow the killer would still manage to catch them. What’s going on behind the scenes? Has the killer somehow learned to teleport places? Because that’s sure as hell how it seems in some instances.

2. “Be right back” = “Be back never”
These three little words are essentially a death sentence. Once uttered, there’s no turning back. You’re dead. That’s it. Better to just leave without saying anything than to say these three words.

3. “Let’s have sex in this abandoned insane asylum, nothing bad could possibly happen!”
Yeah…sex in a horror movie is basically a death sentence. Going to an abandoned place? DON’T HAVE SEX. Going to a cabin in the woods with friends? DON’T HAVE SEX. You will be the couple that dies. Just keep your hormones in check and wait until you’re NOT in a horror movie-esque predicament.

4. “Hello?” “Hold on, just putting my hockey mask back on, be right there.”
If you go into some random place (abandoned or otherwise) or if you hear what sounds like someone breaking into your home, DON’T YELL ‘HELLO.’ The burglar/killer is, more than likely, NOT going to reply. And if you’re stupid enough to think they will, it’s no wonder you were killed.

5. The girl who can do nothing more than scream while her friend fights off the killer…and ends up dead.
It’s always in the last moment that the girl finally shuts up and does something helpful. By then, IT’S TOO LATE. The friend is dead. Because all the girl could do was scream instead of trying to help. Had she stepped in a moment sooner, perhaps both could’ve survived. In some cases, both do, but the friend is usually pretty badly injured because of how unhelpful the screaming girl was.

6. Gets friends killed by making stupid decisions…Ends up being the one who lives.
Typical. The person who makes the worst decisions is the one who survives to the end. Not in all instances, but there’s a good majority. Why couldn’t the person who’d been sensible throughout survive? Oh, right, because the one who’d been stupid made a decision that got them killed.

7. “Let’s split up because being by yourself when there’s a lunatic around is definitely better than staying in a group!”
Makes total sense. Because one-on-one is DEFINITELY better than five-on-one, right? Apparently.

8. Victim has opportunity to run outside…instead runs upstairs.
Good choice. Front door is right there, killer hasn’t spotted you yet and you choose to run UPSTAIRS instead of OUTSIDE to safety. You deserve a round of applause.

While not all horror movies have these clichés (and there’s certainly more out there), a good portion of them do and it’s frustrating. I want more horror movies where the characters make all the right decisions and still end up dead.
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Prose Challenge of the Month #1: Write about losing your innocence. Fifteen entries will be featured in a Prose Original Book of the Month, whereby each winner will take 5% lifetime royalties. You must purchase the book to discover its authors, who will be determined by objective data (reads, likes, reposts, comments) and by team vote to ensure reader satisfaction. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags “itslit,” “getlit,” and “ProseChallenge.”
Written by JenJen132

Mock Trial

Innocent Until Proven Guilty…that was the saying. That’s what the criminal justice system abides by. It was up to the prosecutor to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the defendant was guilty of the crime or crimes they were being charged with.

In this case, I was the defendant.

I glanced over at my lawyer. He wasn’t much older than me; maybe he was even the same age that I was. He did well representing me, but I already knew I was going to be convicted despite his best efforts. I knew there was just enough evidence to convince the jury that I was guilty of the crime. How unfortunate for me. Well, really unfortunate for him…there goes his A.

I thought I had been so careful covering my tracks. I thought I had wiped away any bit of evidence that could tie me to the crime scene. I was wrong. The investigators were very thorough, too thorough for my liking, but I knew it was their job. I couldn’t be angry at them. I could only be angry at myself for getting sloppy. For getting too confident in myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I had not been as thorough as I thought. If I had I might have remembered to clean the room a little more thoroughly. They might not have found my hair if I had. A loose strand that clearly would not have belonged to the male. I bit down on my lip, shaking my head at my own stupidity. I would be failing if my part was being graded, lucky me.

It didn’t take long for the twelve jurors to return, which is exactly what I was expecting to have happen. There really wasn’t much to cause doubt. Did I have a motive? Yep. It wasn’t a known motive, though. There was nothing there to indicate I had a motive to do what I did, but in my own mind, I knew my motive. The paper I had picked from the hat provided me with one. Did I have an alibi for the time of the crime? Yes, but being home with my dogs was not enough to cut it. I knew it wouldn’t be the moment the DNA evidence came into play. Way to go, Pamela, that was definitely not on the paper.

My lawyer had tried to argue that it was a set-up, that the ‘evidence’ had been planted to make it seem like I had committed the crime, but to no avail. He probably hates me.

The judge turned her emerald gaze onto the twelve jurors, “Have you reached a verdict?”

One of the girls in front stood, casting her gaze in my direction briefly, almost looking apologetic, before turning her gaze back to our professor, “We have, your Honor.”

“What say you?” My professor inquired, sitting back in her chair at the front of the lecture hall.

My hazel hues shifted on to my classmates as they responded to our professor’s question,

“We, the Jury, find the defendant, Pamela Campbell, guilty of the charge of first-degree murder.”

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Prose Challenge of the Month #1: Write about losing your innocence. Fifteen entries will be featured in a Prose Original Book of the Month, whereby each winner will take 5% lifetime royalties. You must purchase the book to discover its authors, who will be determined by objective data (reads, likes, reposts, comments) and by team vote to ensure reader satisfaction. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags “itslit,” “getlit,” and “ProseChallenge.”
Written by JenJen132
Mock Trial
Innocent Until Proven Guilty…that was the saying. That’s what the criminal justice system abides by. It was up to the prosecutor to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the defendant was guilty of the crime or crimes they were being charged with.

In this case, I was the defendant.

I glanced over at my lawyer. He wasn’t much older than me; maybe he was even the same age that I was. He did well representing me, but I already knew I was going to be convicted despite his best efforts. I knew there was just enough evidence to convince the jury that I was guilty of the crime. How unfortunate for me. Well, really unfortunate for him…there goes his A.

I thought I had been so careful covering my tracks. I thought I had wiped away any bit of evidence that could tie me to the crime scene. I was wrong. The investigators were very thorough, too thorough for my liking, but I knew it was their job. I couldn’t be angry at them. I could only be angry at myself for getting sloppy. For getting too confident in myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I had not been as thorough as I thought. If I had I might have remembered to clean the room a little more thoroughly. They might not have found my hair if I had. A loose strand that clearly would not have belonged to the male. I bit down on my lip, shaking my head at my own stupidity. I would be failing if my part was being graded, lucky me.

It didn’t take long for the twelve jurors to return, which is exactly what I was expecting to have happen. There really wasn’t much to cause doubt. Did I have a motive? Yep. It wasn’t a known motive, though. There was nothing there to indicate I had a motive to do what I did, but in my own mind, I knew my motive. The paper I had picked from the hat provided me with one. Did I have an alibi for the time of the crime? Yes, but being home with my dogs was not enough to cut it. I knew it wouldn’t be the moment the DNA evidence came into play. Way to go, Pamela, that was definitely not on the paper.

My lawyer had tried to argue that it was a set-up, that the ‘evidence’ had been planted to make it seem like I had committed the crime, but to no avail. He probably hates me.

The judge turned her emerald gaze onto the twelve jurors, “Have you reached a verdict?”

One of the girls in front stood, casting her gaze in my direction briefly, almost looking apologetic, before turning her gaze back to our professor, “We have, your Honor.”

“What say you?” My professor inquired, sitting back in her chair at the front of the lecture hall.

My hazel hues shifted on to my classmates as they responded to our professor’s question,

“We, the Jury, find the defendant, Pamela Campbell, guilty of the charge of first-degree murder.”
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"We even forgot our own name..."
Written by JenJen132 in portal Horror & Thriller

No Recollection

Waking up in a hospital was the last thing he was expecting. Hell, he couldn’t even remember why he was here. An accident? Was anyone else hurt? Who brought him?

He groaned, sitting himself upright. It was too quiet. There was some equipment in the room indicative of a hospital, but where was the rest? Shouldn't something be hooked up to him? Shouldn't he be injured? Where were the nurses and doctors?

His chocolate hues darted around the room and came to rest upon another person in a bed across from his. He wasn’t alone, that was comforting. Didn’t answer any of his questions though, which was far from comforting.

“Hey you,” another male’s voice spoke up, “how long you been awake?”

“Just woke up, like you,” he steadied his voice, “do you know how you got here?”

Maybe they were in the same accident. He hoped it was that simple. He needed answers.

“No…,” the other male sighed. “I was going to ask you the same question. Guessing you don’t know either.”

He sighed, running his hand through his dark locks in frustration. Neither male knew how they got here and he was beginning to doubt they were in a hospital. It looked like one, but something felt off.

“What’s your name?” He inquired, knowing it was the one question he’d get answered.

“…Don’t know…,” the other male replied shakily. “I…can’t remember my name.”

“How do you--,” he stopped suddenly, eyes growing wide. “Shit…I can’t remember my name, either.”

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"We even forgot our own name..."
Written by JenJen132 in portal Horror & Thriller
No Recollection

Waking up in a hospital was the last thing he was expecting. Hell, he couldn’t even remember why he was here. An accident? Was anyone else hurt? Who brought him?

He groaned, sitting himself upright. It was too quiet. There was some equipment in the room indicative of a hospital, but where was the rest? Shouldn't something be hooked up to him? Shouldn't he be injured? Where were the nurses and doctors?

His chocolate hues darted around the room and came to rest upon another person in a bed across from his. He wasn’t alone, that was comforting. Didn’t answer any of his questions though, which was far from comforting.

“Hey you,” another male’s voice spoke up, “how long you been awake?”

“Just woke up, like you,” he steadied his voice, “do you know how you got here?”

Maybe they were in the same accident. He hoped it was that simple. He needed answers.

“No…,” the other male sighed. “I was going to ask you the same question. Guessing you don’t know either.”

He sighed, running his hand through his dark locks in frustration. Neither male knew how they got here and he was beginning to doubt they were in a hospital. It looked like one, but something felt off.

“What’s your name?” He inquired, knowing it was the one question he’d get answered.

“…Don’t know…,” the other male replied shakily. “I…can’t remember my name.”

“How do you--,” he stopped suddenly, eyes growing wide. “Shit…I can’t remember my name, either.”

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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 JenJen132

Diary of Jane

11/21/2016

Dear Diary,

It happened. It actually happened. I had only seen it in movies, played video games depicting it and watched TV shows about it. Never in a million years would I have thought something like it could become real-life. Today it did. The zombie apocalypse became reality.

It started off as a normal day. Woke up, got ready and drove to work. The first couple hours at work were normal…well, sort of. It was abnormally quiet. The phones weren’t ringing much, if at all. No walk-ins. Hell, there didn’t even seem to be many cars driving by on the street. Granted we’re not a main road, but we still get cars driving by pretty frequently. We’re close enough to one of the main roads in the town.

Then it happened. The silence was broken.

A man came running into our office and started screaming for help. All of us, of course, came running. Well, those of us on the first floor at least, so 4 of us. He was loud, but not loud enough for the people on the second floor to hear. Lucky them. He was carrying a young girl in his arms. There was blood covering the entire front of her shirt. She was dead; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. What struck me was that he came here, to our law office, instead of going to a hospital. I guessed we were the closest place. And he wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to think rationally. He was carrying his dead daughter, for crying out loud.

She did not fucking stay dead, though.

The moment he saw us, he fell to his knees with her sprawled across them. It was about a minute after we saw this gruesome scene that it got worse. She groaned. She fucking made this guttural sound that scared the ever living shit out of us because, for all intents and purposes, she had just been dead. Before any of us could comprehend what was happening, she dug her teeth into his neck causing crimson to spurt everywhere. None of us could move. We were completely frozen to our spots as this all unfolded. His body fell limp, toppling over backwards and she just kept going. Then she suddenly stopped…and I realized why instantly. He was changing. It was time to run.

I forced my own feet to move and, thankfully, I saw that the others quickly moved too. It was hard to keep from screaming. All of us were. We were terrified. I realize now that maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to leave. I should’ve tried to help the others. I should’ve stayed to see if the people on the second floor knew what was happening, but I didn’t. I jumped into mom mentality. I needed to get home to my husband and son.

I don’t even remember the drive, really. I don’t know if the person I hit along the way was a person or a zombie. I didn’t stop to check. I couldn’t. When I did finally reach our neighborhood, it was quiet. Untouched. It was as if the plague hadn’t reached here yet. I was wrong. I quickly realized that when I saw our neighbor’s house. It had reached here.

Thankfully…our house was untouched. My husband and son were fine. They’d barricaded themselves in the attic. But for how much longer would we be fine is what I now wonder. What do we do? Where do we go? How far did this reach? So many questions, so little answers.

I’ve seen the movies, I’ve played the games, I’ve watched the shows, but I sure as hell am not ready to actually have it be real-life.

~ Jane

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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 JenJen132
Diary of Jane
11/21/2016

Dear Diary,

It happened. It actually happened. I had only seen it in movies, played video games depicting it and watched TV shows about it. Never in a million years would I have thought something like it could become real-life. Today it did. The zombie apocalypse became reality.

It started off as a normal day. Woke up, got ready and drove to work. The first couple hours at work were normal…well, sort of. It was abnormally quiet. The phones weren’t ringing much, if at all. No walk-ins. Hell, there didn’t even seem to be many cars driving by on the street. Granted we’re not a main road, but we still get cars driving by pretty frequently. We’re close enough to one of the main roads in the town.

Then it happened. The silence was broken.

A man came running into our office and started screaming for help. All of us, of course, came running. Well, those of us on the first floor at least, so 4 of us. He was loud, but not loud enough for the people on the second floor to hear. Lucky them. He was carrying a young girl in his arms. There was blood covering the entire front of her shirt. She was dead; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. What struck me was that he came here, to our law office, instead of going to a hospital. I guessed we were the closest place. And he wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to think rationally. He was carrying his dead daughter, for crying out loud.

She did not fucking stay dead, though.

The moment he saw us, he fell to his knees with her sprawled across them. It was about a minute after we saw this gruesome scene that it got worse. She groaned. She fucking made this guttural sound that scared the ever living shit out of us because, for all intents and purposes, she had just been dead. Before any of us could comprehend what was happening, she dug her teeth into his neck causing crimson to spurt everywhere. None of us could move. We were completely frozen to our spots as this all unfolded. His body fell limp, toppling over backwards and she just kept going. Then she suddenly stopped…and I realized why instantly. He was changing. It was time to run.

I forced my own feet to move and, thankfully, I saw that the others quickly moved too. It was hard to keep from screaming. All of us were. We were terrified. I realize now that maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to leave. I should’ve tried to help the others. I should’ve stayed to see if the people on the second floor knew what was happening, but I didn’t. I jumped into mom mentality. I needed to get home to my husband and son.

I don’t even remember the drive, really. I don’t know if the person I hit along the way was a person or a zombie. I didn’t stop to check. I couldn’t. When I did finally reach our neighborhood, it was quiet. Untouched. It was as if the plague hadn’t reached here yet. I was wrong. I quickly realized that when I saw our neighbor’s house. It had reached here.

Thankfully…our house was untouched. My husband and son were fine. They’d barricaded themselves in the attic. But for how much longer would we be fine is what I now wonder. What do we do? Where do we go? How far did this reach? So many questions, so little answers.

I’ve seen the movies, I’ve played the games, I’ve watched the shows, but I sure as hell am not ready to actually have it be real-life.

~ Jane

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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 JenJen132

Too Late

We are all broken, but some of us are more broken than others.

And, sometimes, our broken pieces cut others as much as we try to keep them from doing so.

“No.”

The word filtered through Cassidy’s lips just above a whisper, realization washing over her as she placed a hand gently upon Peter’s cheek. Tears began to pool at the brim of her eyes.

“You can’t leave me. Not now.” A few tears escaped and began rolling gently down her porcelain cheeks. “I love you.”

Her cerulean hues searched his lifeless face for any signs of a return. Signs that perhaps he had heard her words, but there was nothing to be found. He just continued to lay there, lifeless, with no hope of ever coming back.

She pressed on, keeping her voice soft knowing that if she spoke a decibel louder that she wouldn’t be able to control her tears.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I should have said it sooner. I love you, Peter Herring. Please…just…just come back to me.”

Her voice broke on the last word as she tipped her head forward and placed the barest of kisses upon his lips. The tears cascaded freely now and she didn’t bother to stop them. There was no point. He was gone and she’d never felt more alone.

She was a believer. A believer in the saying that true love can break any curse, but this? This wasn’t a curse. Nor was this a fairy tale. She wasn’t a princess and he wasn’t a prince. A kiss, true love or not, couldn’t resurrect the dead. Cassidy could hope. She could wish upon all the stars in the universe, throw all her coins into a wishing well, but nothing would bring him back. That was the thought that broke her. Shattered all her beliefs in the fraction of a second.

He was everything that she could have wanted and she had him, but she continuously pushed her own feelings aside. He’d done so much bad that she refused to let herself see the good. The changed man. Now it was too late. She had realized too late that though she could choose to ignore her real feelings for him, they would never go away.

Deep down, she always knew it. Accepting it was an entirely different thing.

Now. Now that she had finally accepted it, now that she realized that she loved him as much as he loved her, he was gone. Taken from her. A past he’d tried to bury had caught up with him and now he was dead.

Her tears turned into sobs, breathing becoming a difficult thing to do. Her head was buried against the crook of his neck, hands gripping the fabric of his hospital gown, unwilling to let him go just yet. In that moment, it was just them. Nothing else mattered to her. Nothing.

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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 JenJen132
Too Late
We are all broken, but some of us are more broken than others.
And, sometimes, our broken pieces cut others as much as we try to keep them from doing so.

“No.”

The word filtered through Cassidy’s lips just above a whisper, realization washing over her as she placed a hand gently upon Peter’s cheek. Tears began to pool at the brim of her eyes.

“You can’t leave me. Not now.” A few tears escaped and began rolling gently down her porcelain cheeks. “I love you.”

Her cerulean hues searched his lifeless face for any signs of a return. Signs that perhaps he had heard her words, but there was nothing to be found. He just continued to lay there, lifeless, with no hope of ever coming back.

She pressed on, keeping her voice soft knowing that if she spoke a decibel louder that she wouldn’t be able to control her tears.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I should have said it sooner. I love you, Peter Herring. Please…just…just come back to me.”

Her voice broke on the last word as she tipped her head forward and placed the barest of kisses upon his lips. The tears cascaded freely now and she didn’t bother to stop them. There was no point. He was gone and she’d never felt more alone.

She was a believer. A believer in the saying that true love can break any curse, but this? This wasn’t a curse. Nor was this a fairy tale. She wasn’t a princess and he wasn’t a prince. A kiss, true love or not, couldn’t resurrect the dead. Cassidy could hope. She could wish upon all the stars in the universe, throw all her coins into a wishing well, but nothing would bring him back. That was the thought that broke her. Shattered all her beliefs in the fraction of a second.

He was everything that she could have wanted and she had him, but she continuously pushed her own feelings aside. He’d done so much bad that she refused to let herself see the good. The changed man. Now it was too late. She had realized too late that though she could choose to ignore her real feelings for him, they would never go away.

Deep down, she always knew it. Accepting it was an entirely different thing.

Now. Now that she had finally accepted it, now that she realized that she loved him as much as he loved her, he was gone. Taken from her. A past he’d tried to bury had caught up with him and now he was dead.

Her tears turned into sobs, breathing becoming a difficult thing to do. Her head was buried against the crook of his neck, hands gripping the fabric of his hospital gown, unwilling to let him go just yet. In that moment, it was just them. Nothing else mattered to her. Nothing.

#fiction  #Itslit  #weareallbroken 
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Prose Coin Giveaway Challenge: Write a micropoem about your favourite book without naming it. 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 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags #GetLit #ItsLit #LitUp #Hybrid #WeAre.
Written by JenJen132

Girl on Fire

Names in a cauldron;

One boy, one girl.

Not her,

I volunteer.

Painted faces,

Colored hair,

Watch delightfully.

No real allies,

One survivor,

But we're only teens.

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Prose Coin Giveaway Challenge: Write a micropoem about your favourite book without naming it. 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 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags #GetLit #ItsLit #LitUp #Hybrid #WeAre.
Written by JenJen132
Girl on Fire
Names in a cauldron;
One boy, one girl.
Not her,
I volunteer.

Painted faces,
Colored hair,
Watch delightfully.

No real allies,
One survivor,
But we're only teens.
#LitUp  #getlit  #girlonfire 
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Juice
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