XxFwuffyBunnyxX
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Character Study. Create a single character. Don't bother about any narrative plot, timeline or events; just create a full person out of your words. Describe its appearance, likes, dislikes, behavior, etc. Make us, the readers, fall in love with this person, or absolutely hate them, or pity them, or want to slap some sense into them, or to snuggle them and make them feel safe. Make us feel something for them. Write it as either a Narative or Poem.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fiction

The Monster Under the Bed

He was the one who shattered the dreams of kids. The hidden criminal who stole the gleeful smiles and the sparkling eyes of every single culprit. He took the unperturbed conscience of the innocent world, the luminescent light that roamed every corner, and twisted the faultless universe into an underworld of warfare and crime.

Or so that’s what they thought.

Looks are deceiving. Everyone is beautiful. We are not skin-deep, is all the inequitable world could say. But their trivial remarks would bend into a shining orb that mirrored their hypocrisy and prejudice. They would mend their unjust affairs and throw their remorseless lies on the gentle monster of the unseen world.

For all they had ever known, he was always there. The tender giant that slept under the beds of little children.

He was a lost shadow, only a whisper to what he beheld and truly was. A placid friend at heart, only to be ripped into the realms of a vicious monster. Candidly, he was an adrift beast of pure intention, searching for a friend with an open mind and a spiraling character.

And so he rested beneath the rickety mattresses of young kids, knowing that the newly born souls were genuine and true.

But he was wrong.

Around the world, society slowly tore the friendly beast into a devil of cruel works and wicked majesty. They would make kids of young and old inculcate their nefarious stories of the evil monster that cleverly hid under their beds. Movies, books, sayings… they were all present to dethrone the provision of a compassionate beast.

So youthful children began closing their closets and putting glistening lamps beneath their sleeping kingdoms. They started telling others of the savage giant and began believing the perverse deceits of the world.

And so the cycle commenced. Future generations were exposed to the darkening light and the devious acts of the murderous monster.

The world became worse and worse until not even people of the same blood could trust each other… they became more sadistic, more cold-blooded, more inhuman.

It was simple. A plan so astute, so clever, that no genius could stop the world-wide domination of the competent lies.

The world would persist in their wrongful discriminations -- mounding up accusations, falsehoods, and untruths -- until the count was so many that the kind beast was a demon, possessor of subtle assassination.

For now, he would stay as the monster underneath the bed.

It is thought that the more people the merrier, as to more minds build a stronger and more intelligent world. But unlike the floating phrases softly sewn into the wind, the world strained of this wisdom would transform their initial refined ideals into a dark and dastardly universe.

And it would stay like this for some time.

Even though the powerful remembrance of goodness was once alive, the world would never learn from their ignorant mistakes... Their lies once truths...

because they were too afraid to realize that the monsters were in them all along.

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Character Study. Create a single character. Don't bother about any narrative plot, timeline or events; just create a full person out of your words. Describe its appearance, likes, dislikes, behavior, etc. Make us, the readers, fall in love with this person, or absolutely hate them, or pity them, or want to slap some sense into them, or to snuggle them and make them feel safe. Make us feel something for them. Write it as either a Narative or Poem.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fiction
The Monster Under the Bed
He was the one who shattered the dreams of kids. The hidden criminal who stole the gleeful smiles and the sparkling eyes of every single culprit. He took the unperturbed conscience of the innocent world, the luminescent light that roamed every corner, and twisted the faultless universe into an underworld of warfare and crime.

Or so that’s what they thought.

Looks are deceiving. Everyone is beautiful. We are not skin-deep, is all the inequitable world could say. But their trivial remarks would bend into a shining orb that mirrored their hypocrisy and prejudice. They would mend their unjust affairs and throw their remorseless lies on the gentle monster of the unseen world.

For all they had ever known, he was always there. The tender giant that slept under the beds of little children.

He was a lost shadow, only a whisper to what he beheld and truly was. A placid friend at heart, only to be ripped into the realms of a vicious monster. Candidly, he was an adrift beast of pure intention, searching for a friend with an open mind and a spiraling character.

And so he rested beneath the rickety mattresses of young kids, knowing that the newly born souls were genuine and true.

But he was wrong.

Around the world, society slowly tore the friendly beast into a devil of cruel works and wicked majesty. They would make kids of young and old inculcate their nefarious stories of the evil monster that cleverly hid under their beds. Movies, books, sayings… they were all present to dethrone the provision of a compassionate beast.

So youthful children began closing their closets and putting glistening lamps beneath their sleeping kingdoms. They started telling others of the savage giant and began believing the perverse deceits of the world.

And so the cycle commenced. Future generations were exposed to the darkening light and the devious acts of the murderous monster.

The world became worse and worse until not even people of the same blood could trust each other… they became more sadistic, more cold-blooded, more inhuman.

It was simple. A plan so astute, so clever, that no genius could stop the world-wide domination of the competent lies.

The world would persist in their wrongful discriminations -- mounding up accusations, falsehoods, and untruths -- until the count was so many that the kind beast was a demon, possessor of subtle assassination.

For now, he would stay as the monster underneath the bed.

It is thought that the more people the merrier, as to more minds build a stronger and more intelligent world. But unlike the floating phrases softly sewn into the wind, the world strained of this wisdom would transform their initial refined ideals into a dark and dastardly universe.

And it would stay like this for some time.

Even though the powerful remembrance of goodness was once alive, the world would never learn from their ignorant mistakes... Their lies once truths...


because they were too afraid to realize that the monsters were in them all along.

#horror  #justice  #truth  #monster 
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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Haiku

Gone now.

shadows

lost souls of the past and distant notes to the future

gray outlines crying eternally

being forgotten in the past and to be forgotten in the future

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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Haiku
Gone now.
shadows


lost souls of the past and distant notes to the future


gray outlines crying eternally


being forgotten in the past and to be forgotten in the future
#memory  #Past  #forever 
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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fantasy

Foresters (Chapter. 1)

I watched as Liam shape-shifted into his original form. The mighty ferocious wolf that laid in front of me gradually morphed into it’s real figure. As the wolf mended into his realistic outline, he slowly became the teenage boy that I remembered. He had dirty blonde hair that was gracefully placed on the grass and those familiar green eyes that would pierce into my soul. When the shift had finalized him into his former self, I grabbed his messy hair and brought him closer to me -- his face a breath away from mine. His lips were stained with the color of ripe berries and the poison I used to knock him out coursed through his blood. My hand still holding on to him, I used my other hand to quickly dig through my satchel. Then as I cautiously lifted the sharp pointed dagger out of my bag, the top glistening in the sun, I tilted the knife towards his chest.

      “I’m sorry Liam.” I said hesitantly, my grip wrapping tighter against the dagger.

                                              “This is for my kingdom.”

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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fantasy
Foresters (Chapter. 1)
I watched as Liam shape-shifted into his original form. The mighty ferocious wolf that laid in front of me gradually morphed into it’s real figure. As the wolf mended into his realistic outline, he slowly became the teenage boy that I remembered. He had dirty blonde hair that was gracefully placed on the grass and those familiar green eyes that would pierce into my soul. When the shift had finalized him into his former self, I grabbed his messy hair and brought him closer to me -- his face a breath away from mine. His lips were stained with the color of ripe berries and the poison I used to knock him out coursed through his blood. My hand still holding on to him, I used my other hand to quickly dig through my satchel. Then as I cautiously lifted the sharp pointed dagger out of my bag, the top glistening in the sun, I tilted the knife towards his chest.

      “I’m sorry Liam.” I said hesitantly, my grip wrapping tighter against the dagger.

                                              “This is for my kingdom.”
#fantasy  #magic  #witchcraft 
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Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Simon & Schuster

Leaping Through Time

I tentatively watched as the bizarre and alien frog legs leaped into the blistering pan and shriveled to their horrid deaths -- the foreign creature crying in soft withers of misery as it oozed an unidentifiable green substance.

It was morning, and the first meal of the day called out in urgent woe and distress.

I shifted my attention to the sweltering pan as my grandma attentively released the frogs into the makeshift cauldrons that would ensure their slaughter and expiry. My mind focused on the cessation of the innocent culprits as the animated yells of my three other cousins echoed throughout the house.

Adding spices, herbs, and garnishes, I examine the actions of my grandma as she ravishes for any remaining ingredients in the fridge and fires the materials onto the stove. For a second I feel pity for the executed legs, and I silently promise to myself that I will host a funeral for them. But as I pray for a great whole new life for the tattered frogs, I’m interrupted by the gentle voice of my grandma, telling me to pick some tomatoes in our miniature garden.

Listening to the mellow command from my grandma, I swiftly bow my head and utter the phrase: “Thank you for having me” to her before I gleefully prance outside.

Our garden is like the portal to another world -- mesmerizing but also aberrant. I scan the vast fields of our small world, the lapping wind slightly pushing against my face as a shimmer in the plants catches my attention.

Then as I step forward to investigate the mysterious glisten, there lies a vibrant, shining, red tomato. I instinctively twist the tomato off its knotted vine and place the intoxicating garden aroma under my nose -- a smell that bleeds of fresh vegetation.

After a few examines I decide on the chosen tomato and I hurriedly run inside the house to show my grandma my perfect pick. I bow my head upon entering the house and repeat the same line “Thank you for having me” as I excitedly boast about my flawless tomato. All grandma does is give a warm smile and calmly cradles the tomato in her hands as she drops it into the scorching pan.

Then after a few moments of frying and the distinct odor of garlic has empowered the house, in seconds a bowl of sauteed frog legs and tomatoes serenely lies in front of me -- wisps of steam still rising from my meal.

At first, I just frown at the mysterious supper; frog legs still jagging out of the mushy porridge. But as my stomach gurgles in hindered starvation, I slowly poke into the soup and gradually chew on the exotic creature. In hinds sight the meal is out of the ordinary, a dish that urges for acquired tastes. But as my jaw works on the scavenged ingredients, my eyes open up to a whole new world of colors and savory textures that course through my mouth.

Before I know it my stomach is filled with the hot soup, and I drop my empty bowl into the sink that is replenished with soapy water. The fiery sun begins to set, and I know I have to act quickly or my time will be up.

So wrapping my professional doctors coat around me as I gather my medical tools, I sit each of my cousins on a wooden stool and carefully examine their health condition. I accurately place a popsicle stick on each of my cousins’ tongues, especially making sure that their tongues are pigmented correctly.

Then as I go through my next procedure, I persist in scanning my cousins eyes, listening to their heartbeats, and forcing them into doing ten jumping jacks. I would also attempt into brainwashing them that I was the best doctor out there, and that any other health care or medical service would provide no help to them.

But as my cousins crawl up the stairs like awakened zombies, my soul somehow also makes it into bed. I smile with an adorable grin, recalling on my wonderful day of perpetual memories as I try to squish the lowering shining orb outside the window.

I was a doctor and I was keenly aware of it. I was the one who would save people when I was older, pursuing the occupation of a doctor and enlightening people from the dead. I was going to impact the world and I knew it.

As I lay in bed dazed from the recurring times of the past and the future, I vigorously illustrate my plans to my fellow cousins. We laugh and talk about things any other child would talk about. Then as we concentrate on the timid footsteps of our grandma, we rapidly shut our eyes and our voices become hushed in the midst of the night. And before I know it, I’m away in my dreams, caring no less about what will happen in the future...

There was darkness and the swishing voices of people echoing in the vast darkness. I was alone, staring blankly at the world of darkness that enveloped me into its realms.

Then my feet slightly lifted off the ground and I teleported to a large room full of people. The odd humans around me were mercilessly sobbing, and in the distance I saw a figure that was very familiar. My hair was longer and I wore unique clothes different of my time era. But as I tried to step closer and inspect the bewildered situation, entreated screams and the rings of police sirens shattered in front of me. I watched innocently with confusion, as doctors unjustly pierced through the womans heart and death overcame her. Shouts soared through the roof and gray outlines cried eternally.

I was now back in the darkness, stolen from the room as the reverberating sounds of the crashing situation stirred in my mind. I could remember the cries of the shadowed figures, and looking back at their mourning made tears stream down my eyes.

If that was what doctors did, kill… then I never want to be anything like that.

I suddenly flash back to reality, my eyes still pondering off to the mesmerizing view outside as my teacher talks for centuries.

It is period 3, Language Arts, and the mistress that teaches the class yapps like a chihuahua non-stop.

My gaze fixates on the soft swaying trees outside, my head subtly bobbing along as our instructor speaks like it’s her last chance to speak.

Looking back, being a child was truly great. There was no stress, we didn’t get any homework, and we also didn’t have to face some dilemmas in life that we would never step foot on. I tapped my index finger mildly on my polished wooden desk, my perceptions racing from timeline to timeline as the bell blared inside our open classroom.

Later as I walk home from school to visit my grandma, I pick some of her favorite yellow flowers. The plants were bright and full of light, expressing their love of living in this boundless world. They actually reminded me of my grandma, the ordinary little flowers were full of empathy and compassion.

A few minutes later as I stroll along the cement paths, I take a sharp right turn and my feet brush against the green grass. I make my way up the bumpy dirt as I clutch the beautiful flowers against my hand.

As I get closer to the gray monument that graciously embraces her life and tells of her extensive story, I tilt my head and grin gratefully. My arms cross together into a bow and I happily say “Thank you for having me” into the silent air.

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Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Simon & Schuster
Leaping Through Time
I tentatively watched as the bizarre and alien frog legs leaped into the blistering pan and shriveled to their horrid deaths -- the foreign creature crying in soft withers of misery as it oozed an unidentifiable green substance.

It was morning, and the first meal of the day called out in urgent woe and distress.

I shifted my attention to the sweltering pan as my grandma attentively released the frogs into the makeshift cauldrons that would ensure their slaughter and expiry. My mind focused on the cessation of the innocent culprits as the animated yells of my three other cousins echoed throughout the house.

Adding spices, herbs, and garnishes, I examine the actions of my grandma as she ravishes for any remaining ingredients in the fridge and fires the materials onto the stove. For a second I feel pity for the executed legs, and I silently promise to myself that I will host a funeral for them. But as I pray for a great whole new life for the tattered frogs, I’m interrupted by the gentle voice of my grandma, telling me to pick some tomatoes in our miniature garden.

Listening to the mellow command from my grandma, I swiftly bow my head and utter the phrase: “Thank you for having me” to her before I gleefully prance outside.


Our garden is like the portal to another world -- mesmerizing but also aberrant. I scan the vast fields of our small world, the lapping wind slightly pushing against my face as a shimmer in the plants catches my attention.

Then as I step forward to investigate the mysterious glisten, there lies a vibrant, shining, red tomato. I instinctively twist the tomato off its knotted vine and place the intoxicating garden aroma under my nose -- a smell that bleeds of fresh vegetation.

After a few examines I decide on the chosen tomato and I hurriedly run inside the house to show my grandma my perfect pick. I bow my head upon entering the house and repeat the same line “Thank you for having me” as I excitedly boast about my flawless tomato. All grandma does is give a warm smile and calmly cradles the tomato in her hands as she drops it into the scorching pan.

Then after a few moments of frying and the distinct odor of garlic has empowered the house, in seconds a bowl of sauteed frog legs and tomatoes serenely lies in front of me -- wisps of steam still rising from my meal.

At first, I just frown at the mysterious supper; frog legs still jagging out of the mushy porridge. But as my stomach gurgles in hindered starvation, I slowly poke into the soup and gradually chew on the exotic creature. In hinds sight the meal is out of the ordinary, a dish that urges for acquired tastes. But as my jaw works on the scavenged ingredients, my eyes open up to a whole new world of colors and savory textures that course through my mouth.


Before I know it my stomach is filled with the hot soup, and I drop my empty bowl into the sink that is replenished with soapy water. The fiery sun begins to set, and I know I have to act quickly or my time will be up.

So wrapping my professional doctors coat around me as I gather my medical tools, I sit each of my cousins on a wooden stool and carefully examine their health condition. I accurately place a popsicle stick on each of my cousins’ tongues, especially making sure that their tongues are pigmented correctly.

Then as I go through my next procedure, I persist in scanning my cousins eyes, listening to their heartbeats, and forcing them into doing ten jumping jacks. I would also attempt into brainwashing them that I was the best doctor out there, and that any other health care or medical service would provide no help to them.

But as my cousins crawl up the stairs like awakened zombies, my soul somehow also makes it into bed. I smile with an adorable grin, recalling on my wonderful day of perpetual memories as I try to squish the lowering shining orb outside the window.

I was a doctor and I was keenly aware of it. I was the one who would save people when I was older, pursuing the occupation of a doctor and enlightening people from the dead. I was going to impact the world and I knew it.

As I lay in bed dazed from the recurring times of the past and the future, I vigorously illustrate my plans to my fellow cousins. We laugh and talk about things any other child would talk about. Then as we concentrate on the timid footsteps of our grandma, we rapidly shut our eyes and our voices become hushed in the midst of the night. And before I know it, I’m away in my dreams, caring no less about what will happen in the future...


There was darkness and the swishing voices of people echoing in the vast darkness. I was alone, staring blankly at the world of darkness that enveloped me into its realms.

Then my feet slightly lifted off the ground and I teleported to a large room full of people. The odd humans around me were mercilessly sobbing, and in the distance I saw a figure that was very familiar. My hair was longer and I wore unique clothes different of my time era. But as I tried to step closer and inspect the bewildered situation, entreated screams and the rings of police sirens shattered in front of me. I watched innocently with confusion, as doctors unjustly pierced through the womans heart and death overcame her. Shouts soared through the roof and gray outlines cried eternally.

I was now back in the darkness, stolen from the room as the reverberating sounds of the crashing situation stirred in my mind. I could remember the cries of the shadowed figures, and looking back at their mourning made tears stream down my eyes.

If that was what doctors did, kill… then I never want to be anything like that.


I suddenly flash back to reality, my eyes still pondering off to the mesmerizing view outside as my teacher talks for centuries.

It is period 3, Language Arts, and the mistress that teaches the class yapps like a chihuahua non-stop.

My gaze fixates on the soft swaying trees outside, my head subtly bobbing along as our instructor speaks like it’s her last chance to speak.

Looking back, being a child was truly great. There was no stress, we didn’t get any homework, and we also didn’t have to face some dilemmas in life that we would never step foot on. I tapped my index finger mildly on my polished wooden desk, my perceptions racing from timeline to timeline as the bell blared inside our open classroom.


Later as I walk home from school to visit my grandma, I pick some of her favorite yellow flowers. The plants were bright and full of light, expressing their love of living in this boundless world. They actually reminded me of my grandma, the ordinary little flowers were full of empathy and compassion.

A few minutes later as I stroll along the cement paths, I take a sharp right turn and my feet brush against the green grass. I make my way up the bumpy dirt as I clutch the beautiful flowers against my hand.

As I get closer to the gray monument that graciously embraces her life and tells of her extensive story, I tilt my head and grin gratefully. My arms cross together into a bow and I happily say “Thank you for having me” into the silent air.
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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Looking back

Had I known that you would someday become a fair-minded, perceptive, and beautiful individual… may I have congratulated you

Had I know that you would cry in the corner and endure the trials that were not even of your own burden… may I have comforted you

Had I known that you would achieve your dreams and aspirations that you drew on your bucket list when you were younger… may I have supported you

Had I known you were worthy of my love… maybe this story would’ve been different.

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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Looking back
Had I known that you would someday become a fair-minded, perceptive, and beautiful individual… may I have congratulated you

Had I know that you would cry in the corner and endure the trials that were not even of your own burden… may I have comforted you

Had I known that you would achieve your dreams and aspirations that you drew on your bucket list when you were younger… may I have supported you

Had I known you were worthy of my love… maybe this story would’ve been different.

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX

Twisted Revenge

It is expected that we don't steal. Society governs us in a way that brainwashes us to never lay a finger on something that was never of our own. People gloat about their pristine and enlightened spirits even after the beginning of the making and mending of their souls commenced due to the repress of purloin. But for the cloaked organization that conceals themselves under the moonless shadows that awaken in the darkest of nights... stealing is merely nothing but survival. Yes hindered by the world, the secluded organization that dances between every brisk silhouette is adjudged as futile detritus that sweeps through streets. People ostracize and eschew us, look down on us as feeble-minded apes, and would even send us to the execution ring. So it is adequate that we peculate what we have lost and savor the vengeance that we have longed for. We survive off of the consternation and distress of others, and take back all that we have lost. I will never look back on that day again. It will only motivate me and make my abhorrence stronger to make people perceive what I had felt. I will make sure that the puppets that get hooked on our choking strings will never get spared mercy. Yes this is the story of our attempt to get our sweet revenge.

                      Written in the perspective of the individual who learned

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I listen to the soft hums of the wind as my vision constantly checks the thin moving lines of my modernized device. My heart diligently knocks at my chest as I hearken closely for any signs of movement. I swiftly dart my perception towards my silver watch and it reads: 4:00 AM -- before quickly returning to my frozen stance. My physiognomy manages to run a gentle smile, and I silently laugh at my condition. A teenager thieving efficient gas from senior citizens, isolated and alone, in a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

But my mind suddenly snaps back towards my situation by reflex, and there I am again staring at my next elderly target. My eyes trace the paths of my icy breath as the two lines on my incessant time reader race to strike the 4:05 AM point. Strangely, I hold back my breath until one of the lines touches the abbreviated arrows that signals the universe to let go of one single minute -- before I exhale all the warmth from my lungs.

I seem to frown at my polished compass of time because I can feel the creased folding-points of my face slowly dip into my cheeks as I fidget with the transparent but yet sophisticated mechanism. The windows to my vision project to the sky as I scan for the Northern Lights for any signs of upcoming events. What was taking them so long? I can feel the released warmth from my lungs gradually begin to dot my face as I wordlessly yell at my idiocy. They probably left me to do the real job so that when I came back they could get all the rewards. I gently smack my forehead in contrition before I'm interrupted by the mute beeping of my tracking device.

I abruptly seize my key to success, and I bring my eye up to the reader. The unremitting line seems to swiftly run from one side to the other as it calculates how much gas each vehicle accommodates. After five whole seconds the apparatus insists that the contemporary automobile conceals over half a tank of gasoline. I grin with a malevolent aura as my mind consumes the portrayal of the slick aesthetic machinery.

The car was like a convoluted argument -- structured with a defined representation and a poised sort of arrogance. This one car in particular reminded me of a marine dolphin, with it’s smooth but subtle arch and it’s rising fin that complemented the outlook of the presentation. I could spot that the possessor of this extortionate vehicle was in the next door gas station market, so this was unquestionably my chance to sweep in and borrow the liquid gold for good.

So working quickly with my hands, I briskly swipe my gadgets and place them neatly into my satchel. My legs now sprinting without hesitation towards the large RV that is conveniently positioned near the paradise of liquid gold. I serenely open the elevated door that holds my key to success, and I mildly tiptoe towards the taker of all things valuable. Discreetly I cavort over mountains of unhealthful junk food as I reach out and grasp towards my way of accomplishing my mission. Yes this wasn’t my conveyance vessel, but I had to temporarily place my machine here just because the vehicle was asking me to come over since it happened to be parked next to the gas station. Plus I had to move fast, even though decrepit and incapacitated citizens seem to be old and sedate, this was only a measure to how observant and heedful they actually were.

Now clutching onto my gas herder -- a slender tube that would grab all of the transportation fluid I desired, I gingerly paced out of the substantial car and into the open morning. Outside it was still dark and cold like I had recalled, except now the glistening stars that slept in the sky had now vanished. I persistently trudged with my taker of gas cradled over my shoulder as I blindly sauntered through the unlit pathways. It was palpably darker when I had exited the RV, so it was difficult to normally walk on the sidewalks. But as my feet hastened down steps that my senses didn’t remember collecting into their memory storages, my intellect began to go into a juncture of perturbation and apprehension. After it seemed like thousands of deteriorating steps, I began to get skeptical of where I was leading myself. But petrified with the conclusion of the moneyed car owner finding me stealing his luxury gas, I sustained my gradual plod into the gloom.

Through the shadows that I was so familiar with, my hands began to indiscriminately feel through the surroundings of which I perceived was the vehicle that I had based my plan on. As the sensation of an annular orifice slightly ringed against my lightest touch, I then tugged at my gas keeper and plugged it into the opening. A peculiar feeling in my lower stomach urged me that something was anomalous, but I sternly prompted myself that I had to complete what I had come for. So as my finger gracefully landed ever so softly on the switch of my triumph, I instantly flickered the light to my achievement.

Until there was a subdued outcry from the source of the circular gap had my sanity progressively become overcome with dubiety and incertitude. There was a leaden mourn from the vehicle, and then suddenly a burst of water that battled me backwards. I found myself drowned in a pool water with a eerie aroma, as I struggled to catch on to what had occurred. A muffled cry managed to escape the depths of my soul, as I accepted my fate. I had failed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I awoke to dim neon lights and the blaring sounds of the sirens of a police car, as my wrists were tied together and my silver watch replaced with metal handcuffs. Apparently I had unintentionally fooled myself with the root of a sewer line rather than my ideal lavish gasoline. It was going to be a long journey I could tell because I would later be sentenced to five months of prison. But the only real memory I could recall on my attempt was the excruciating ride from the gas station to the police office. My recollection clutched against the ringing phrase that the cop had story told to me about never even thinking about stealing again. But I knew that was the past now, it was only a distant memory that taunted me at the weaknesses of my soul.

Now I was suited in an empty room in the police facility. The walls around me secreted of a dull white shade and the only source of color was imprinted in the black letters that proudly shone throughout my imprisonment. The characters bleakly illustrated the life lesson of an individual who never strived to steal anything. I happily beamed at those words and lightly shook my head. I knew these fallacious terms were only present to propagandize me into surrendering my life to death. But unlike many of the habitual human species that gave into surrender to their passions and past lives, I was different. I would survive ungrudgingly with the yearning for the success I spoke of and will live through. I stared at the blankness of the walls filled with capabilites as thoughts spun through my mind, I had five months to plan out my next plan for sweet revenge.

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX
Twisted Revenge
It is expected that we don't steal. Society governs us in a way that brainwashes us to never lay a finger on something that was never of our own. People gloat about their pristine and enlightened spirits even after the beginning of the making and mending of their souls commenced due to the repress of purloin. But for the cloaked organization that conceals themselves under the moonless shadows that awaken in the darkest of nights... stealing is merely nothing but survival. Yes hindered by the world, the secluded organization that dances between every brisk silhouette is adjudged as futile detritus that sweeps through streets. People ostracize and eschew us, look down on us as feeble-minded apes, and would even send us to the execution ring. So it is adequate that we peculate what we have lost and savor the vengeance that we have longed for. We survive off of the consternation and distress of others, and take back all that we have lost. I will never look back on that day again. It will only motivate me and make my abhorrence stronger to make people perceive what I had felt. I will make sure that the puppets that get hooked on our choking strings will never get spared mercy. Yes this is the story of our attempt to get our sweet revenge.

                      Written in the perspective of the individual who learned
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I listen to the soft hums of the wind as my vision constantly checks the thin moving lines of my modernized device. My heart diligently knocks at my chest as I hearken closely for any signs of movement. I swiftly dart my perception towards my silver watch and it reads: 4:00 AM -- before quickly returning to my frozen stance. My physiognomy manages to run a gentle smile, and I silently laugh at my condition. A teenager thieving efficient gas from senior citizens, isolated and alone, in a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

But my mind suddenly snaps back towards my situation by reflex, and there I am again staring at my next elderly target. My eyes trace the paths of my icy breath as the two lines on my incessant time reader race to strike the 4:05 AM point. Strangely, I hold back my breath until one of the lines touches the abbreviated arrows that signals the universe to let go of one single minute -- before I exhale all the warmth from my lungs.

I seem to frown at my polished compass of time because I can feel the creased folding-points of my face slowly dip into my cheeks as I fidget with the transparent but yet sophisticated mechanism. The windows to my vision project to the sky as I scan for the Northern Lights for any signs of upcoming events. What was taking them so long? I can feel the released warmth from my lungs gradually begin to dot my face as I wordlessly yell at my idiocy. They probably left me to do the real job so that when I came back they could get all the rewards. I gently smack my forehead in contrition before I'm interrupted by the mute beeping of my tracking device.

I abruptly seize my key to success, and I bring my eye up to the reader. The unremitting line seems to swiftly run from one side to the other as it calculates how much gas each vehicle accommodates. After five whole seconds the apparatus insists that the contemporary automobile conceals over half a tank of gasoline. I grin with a malevolent aura as my mind consumes the portrayal of the slick aesthetic machinery.

The car was like a convoluted argument -- structured with a defined representation and a poised sort of arrogance. This one car in particular reminded me of a marine dolphin, with it’s smooth but subtle arch and it’s rising fin that complemented the outlook of the presentation. I could spot that the possessor of this extortionate vehicle was in the next door gas station market, so this was unquestionably my chance to sweep in and borrow the liquid gold for good.

So working quickly with my hands, I briskly swipe my gadgets and place them neatly into my satchel. My legs now sprinting without hesitation towards the large RV that is conveniently positioned near the paradise of liquid gold. I serenely open the elevated door that holds my key to success, and I mildly tiptoe towards the taker of all things valuable. Discreetly I cavort over mountains of unhealthful junk food as I reach out and grasp towards my way of accomplishing my mission. Yes this wasn’t my conveyance vessel, but I had to temporarily place my machine here just because the vehicle was asking me to come over since it happened to be parked next to the gas station. Plus I had to move fast, even though decrepit and incapacitated citizens seem to be old and sedate, this was only a measure to how observant and heedful they actually were.

Now clutching onto my gas herder -- a slender tube that would grab all of the transportation fluid I desired, I gingerly paced out of the substantial car and into the open morning. Outside it was still dark and cold like I had recalled, except now the glistening stars that slept in the sky had now vanished. I persistently trudged with my taker of gas cradled over my shoulder as I blindly sauntered through the unlit pathways. It was palpably darker when I had exited the RV, so it was difficult to normally walk on the sidewalks. But as my feet hastened down steps that my senses didn’t remember collecting into their memory storages, my intellect began to go into a juncture of perturbation and apprehension. After it seemed like thousands of deteriorating steps, I began to get skeptical of where I was leading myself. But petrified with the conclusion of the moneyed car owner finding me stealing his luxury gas, I sustained my gradual plod into the gloom.

Through the shadows that I was so familiar with, my hands began to indiscriminately feel through the surroundings of which I perceived was the vehicle that I had based my plan on. As the sensation of an annular orifice slightly ringed against my lightest touch, I then tugged at my gas keeper and plugged it into the opening. A peculiar feeling in my lower stomach urged me that something was anomalous, but I sternly prompted myself that I had to complete what I had come for. So as my finger gracefully landed ever so softly on the switch of my triumph, I instantly flickered the light to my achievement.

Until there was a subdued outcry from the source of the circular gap had my sanity progressively become overcome with dubiety and incertitude. There was a leaden mourn from the vehicle, and then suddenly a burst of water that battled me backwards. I found myself drowned in a pool water with a eerie aroma, as I struggled to catch on to what had occurred. A muffled cry managed to escape the depths of my soul, as I accepted my fate. I had failed.
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I awoke to dim neon lights and the blaring sounds of the sirens of a police car, as my wrists were tied together and my silver watch replaced with metal handcuffs. Apparently I had unintentionally fooled myself with the root of a sewer line rather than my ideal lavish gasoline. It was going to be a long journey I could tell because I would later be sentenced to five months of prison. But the only real memory I could recall on my attempt was the excruciating ride from the gas station to the police office. My recollection clutched against the ringing phrase that the cop had story told to me about never even thinking about stealing again. But I knew that was the past now, it was only a distant memory that taunted me at the weaknesses of my soul.

Now I was suited in an empty room in the police facility. The walls around me secreted of a dull white shade and the only source of color was imprinted in the black letters that proudly shone throughout my imprisonment. The characters bleakly illustrated the life lesson of an individual who never strived to steal anything. I happily beamed at those words and lightly shook my head. I knew these fallacious terms were only present to propagandize me into surrendering my life to death. But unlike many of the habitual human species that gave into surrender to their passions and past lives, I was different. I would survive ungrudgingly with the yearning for the success I spoke of and will live through. I stared at the blankness of the walls filled with capabilites as thoughts spun through my mind, I had five months to plan out my next plan for sweet revenge.
#adventure  #poetic  #lifelesson 
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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX

Written.

Because the person that always lives in my head deserves to have a voice too.

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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX
Written.
Because the person that always lives in my head deserves to have a voice too.
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Give us a little piece of your wisdom. Create your own proverb or quote. This is the quote you'll be remembered by, the quote that will go on fortune cookies and quote books, so make it a good one. 50 coins for the winner. Happy quoting!
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX

Success of Defeat.

Loss is not the defeat of what we could've of won, but rather the insight to what we had always won.

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Give us a little piece of your wisdom. Create your own proverb or quote. This is the quote you'll be remembered by, the quote that will go on fortune cookies and quote books, so make it a good one. 50 coins for the winner. Happy quoting!
Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX
Success of Defeat.
Loss is not the defeat of what we could've of won, but rather the insight to what we had always won.


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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fiction

You are Beautiful

     My perception focuses on the roaring waves outside my window, as I evade the sight of myself. But even though the small little screaming voice inside of me commands me to look away, in the corner of my eye, I faintly trace the outline of my body.

     I can feel the beats of my heart and taste the saltiness of the beach outside the thin fixed glass, but they are all so distant. My senses auscultate to the drumming of my core and I divulge to the voice that I will see. 

     So my lungs take in a labored breath and I slowly exhale times of pain, worry, and self-consciousness. The screeching voice in my head hollers louder, but I overlook it's cries and my mind halts for three steady drums. one. two. three.

     My view flashes towards the mirror, and I stare at the image. I can see, and my eyes reflect words of antipathy, imperfection, and animosity.

     I try to shift the mysterious flabs of flesh near my waist, attempting to somehow distribute the weight evenly so I appear lean and tall. The mini voice inside of me is silent, drowned by the pools of hatred that burns in it's tiny heart.

     My hands constrict the heart-shaped pills in my palm, as the fire begins to engulf me into its depths of darkness. I take a sharp and sudden breath as I fight back the urge to cry.

     My attention is now on the three heart-shaped pills as my mind races through thoughts and ideas. I glance at the silky light-pink pigment of the pills as the roaring of the waves outside echoes triumphantly through my brain. This is what will make me look pretty like them, the renewed voice in my head whispers. Just one easy gulp and I will have that elegant curve, perfect skin, and that breath-taking face like all the other girls.

     Now avoiding the appearance I see in the reflective glass, the entry ways to my soul gently close. I slowly tip my head back, my hazel hair sweeping behind me as I bring my palm closer to my mouth. Tears of misery glide down my cheeks as the distance between the heart-shaped pills and my mouth gradually decline.

     As I take a hesitant last breath, I can feel the the icy aura of the pills seep throughout the containment of my hand. My heart thumps against my chest as I feel the attenuated elastic metal around the heart-shaped pills touch against my lips...until there is a knock. A warm knock, familiar and gentle -- a knock that will wrap its arms around me in a loving embrace. My eyes teleport to my door, where she is standing.

"Honey, you are beautiful." My mom says softly into the open room.

    

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Written by XxFwuffyBunnyxX in portal Fiction
You are Beautiful
     My perception focuses on the roaring waves outside my window, as I evade the sight of myself. But even though the small little screaming voice inside of me commands me to look away, in the corner of my eye, I faintly trace the outline of my body.
     I can feel the beats of my heart and taste the saltiness of the beach outside the thin fixed glass, but they are all so distant. My senses auscultate to the drumming of my core and I divulge to the voice that I will see. 
     So my lungs take in a labored breath and I slowly exhale times of pain, worry, and self-consciousness. The screeching voice in my head hollers louder, but I overlook it's cries and my mind halts for three steady drums. one. two. three.
     My view flashes towards the mirror, and I stare at the image. I can see, and my eyes reflect words of antipathy, imperfection, and animosity.
     I try to shift the mysterious flabs of flesh near my waist, attempting to somehow distribute the weight evenly so I appear lean and tall. The mini voice inside of me is silent, drowned by the pools of hatred that burns in it's tiny heart.
     My hands constrict the heart-shaped pills in my palm, as the fire begins to engulf me into its depths of darkness. I take a sharp and sudden breath as I fight back the urge to cry.
     My attention is now on the three heart-shaped pills as my mind races through thoughts and ideas. I glance at the silky light-pink pigment of the pills as the roaring of the waves outside echoes triumphantly through my brain. This is what will make me look pretty like them, the renewed voice in my head whispers. Just one easy gulp and I will have that elegant curve, perfect skin, and that breath-taking face like all the other girls.
     Now avoiding the appearance I see in the reflective glass, the entry ways to my soul gently close. I slowly tip my head back, my hazel hair sweeping behind me as I bring my palm closer to my mouth. Tears of misery glide down my cheeks as the distance between the heart-shaped pills and my mouth gradually decline.
     As I take a hesitant last breath, I can feel the the icy aura of the pills seep throughout the containment of my hand. My heart thumps against my chest as I feel the attenuated elastic metal around the heart-shaped pills touch against my lips...until there is a knock. A warm knock, familiar and gentle -- a knock that will wrap its arms around me in a loving embrace. My eyes teleport to my door, where she is standing.

"Honey, you are beautiful." My mom says softly into the open room.


    
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. 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 XxFwuffyBunnyxX

Before Sunlight

     The virtuous watering eyes of the juvenile puppy stared out into the foggy glass that separated him and his new adopter. The decrepit dog pound that he was being raised in along with hundreds of other dogs was a new tourist attraction. Trying out his finest tricks and impotent whimpers, the newborn Dalmatian bounced around the confinements of his constrained glass box until he was met by an elderly visitor.

    The senior man had white bedraggled hair and prominent dim gray eyes that seemed to make him not see at all. But even with his perchance of blindness, the old man somehow propped the tiny Dalmatian out of the glass container and blissfully strode with the pup to his synthetic home.

    At the disheveled home, the puppy would later regret all his tricks and gimmicks he had performed at the dog pound. He would experience being starved and never being the recipient of tenderness and love. He would be hit and slapped by the end of a bamboo feather duster his master relished so much. The innocent pup would know what pain, agony, and hopelessness all felt like -- unlike the other dogs.

    So it would be one day that he knew the true feeling of betrayal, that the Dalmatian would dig under the fence of his master's home to escape months of abuse and neglect. The young pup escaped, lost and disoriented as he wandered the open streets of a populated city.

    The miniature escape artist would cry out into the soft skies, giving a howl of melancholy and mourning as he slept on the streets. He cried merely because he yearned for affection and the warmth of a human-being.

     As the days passed, the pup would scavenge for food in the dumpsters of the active city, looking for anything he could find, and grasping towards hope and the future. But now the territory dominated by three other full-grown male dogs that had wanted their share of the dumpster, the puppy ran for his life until his vision was blurred with tears.

However, the full-grown dogs diverted their attention and attacked a man in a shiny black suit who happened to walk by. Although the puppy could hide from the turmoil, he knew he wanted an honorable death.

    He instinctively charged towards the cluster of male canines and fought for his own life as well as the stranger's. He resisted until his right ear was chewed off and his own blood stained the sidewalk.

   Then there was emptiness; the strange soothing voice of another life form. The same man in the suit would carry the tiny dog into a car to the nearest veterinarian where the pup would be treated. The miniature dog cried out in suffering, as the stranger spoke in reassurance.

"Sshhhh, it's okay buddy," the man said lightly into the atmosphere.

    And for a second as the puppy opened his eyes and glanced at the warm sunset outside the car window, he knew this was home.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. 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 XxFwuffyBunnyxX
Before Sunlight
     The virtuous watering eyes of the juvenile puppy stared out into the foggy glass that separated him and his new adopter. The decrepit dog pound that he was being raised in along with hundreds of other dogs was a new tourist attraction. Trying out his finest tricks and impotent whimpers, the newborn Dalmatian bounced around the confinements of his constrained glass box until he was met by an elderly visitor.
    The senior man had white bedraggled hair and prominent dim gray eyes that seemed to make him not see at all. But even with his perchance of blindness, the old man somehow propped the tiny Dalmatian out of the glass container and blissfully strode with the pup to his synthetic home.
    At the disheveled home, the puppy would later regret all his tricks and gimmicks he had performed at the dog pound. He would experience being starved and never being the recipient of tenderness and love. He would be hit and slapped by the end of a bamboo feather duster his master relished so much. The innocent pup would know what pain, agony, and hopelessness all felt like -- unlike the other dogs.
    So it would be one day that he knew the true feeling of betrayal, that the Dalmatian would dig under the fence of his master's home to escape months of abuse and neglect. The young pup escaped, lost and disoriented as he wandered the open streets of a populated city.
    The miniature escape artist would cry out into the soft skies, giving a howl of melancholy and mourning as he slept on the streets. He cried merely because he yearned for affection and the warmth of a human-being.
     As the days passed, the pup would scavenge for food in the dumpsters of the active city, looking for anything he could find, and grasping towards hope and the future. But now the territory dominated by three other full-grown male dogs that had wanted their share of the dumpster, the puppy ran for his life until his vision was blurred with tears.
However, the full-grown dogs diverted their attention and attacked a man in a shiny black suit who happened to walk by. Although the puppy could hide from the turmoil, he knew he wanted an honorable death.
    He instinctively charged towards the cluster of male canines and fought for his own life as well as the stranger's. He resisted until his right ear was chewed off and his own blood stained the sidewalk.
   Then there was emptiness; the strange soothing voice of another life form. The same man in the suit would carry the tiny dog into a car to the nearest veterinarian where the pup would be treated. The miniature dog cried out in suffering, as the stranger spoke in reassurance.

"Sshhhh, it's okay buddy," the man said lightly into the atmosphere.

    And for a second as the puppy opened his eyes and glanced at the warm sunset outside the car window, he knew this was home.

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