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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 MilesNowhere

Blood In, Blood Out

I enjoy folks

Who use words like :

Paradigm and empirical

They sound like they have it all together

Not me though

Little me...

A rotting vegetable eating meat sack

Just yesterday for example

I discovered the veins, my veins

Had broken through this crazy concrete skin

And went reaching out in all directions

To bond with anything other than their host

Or so it seemed

That made me feel a bit sad

Am I really so hard to live with?

That my insides were longing to externalize

A betrayal like none other

I tried not to take it personally

I deliberately became calm and centered Adopting a philosophical and whimsical approach

I spoke in thought to my evacuating innards

Carefully explaining to the traitors

that without me......

They were nothing......nothing

I pried a pulmonary vein from a chair leg

And carefully folded it back inside my chest cavity

Nana nana boo boo

I looked about and drank in the bloody horrific scene.....

I resembled a grotesque emaciated octopus

Or that alien from Alien 2

Brutal and hardcore....

I've dealt with rejection all my life

But nothing can ever prepare you

.........for something of this magnitude

Hell......

I've had the pin pulled on me by the best

Generally what happens is :

They walk away shaking their heads

and blaming our association on either a momentary lapse of reason or alcohol consumption

.......or both

I never worried that much

I was never big on attachment anyway

See.....I was an only child

I was pretty much poisoned, early on by my own company

I wasn't always this detached though...

The catalyst was the day my imaginary friend ripped my heart out.

'Its not you, its me' said Randell

I closed down that day

And never saw him again

Anyhoo.......

I haven't moved from this sofa in like 22 hours

I physically can't......

My veins have anchored themselves

To a variety of heavy objects

I am pinned down and held to ransom

By my own body

A body I thought I knew well

A body I trusted.....

I hate to moan though

We all have our problems in life

This just took me by surprise is all

And I really need a change of underwear

I'll bounce back

I always do.......

Albeit anemic and pissed off

And I will extract revenge

Most probably through intravenous drug use

Cheers

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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 MilesNowhere
Blood In, Blood Out
I enjoy folks
Who use words like :
Paradigm and empirical
They sound like they have it all together

Not me though
Little me...
A rotting vegetable eating meat sack

Just yesterday for example
I discovered the veins, my veins
Had broken through this crazy concrete skin
And went reaching out in all directions
To bond with anything other than their host
Or so it seemed

That made me feel a bit sad
Am I really so hard to live with?
That my insides were longing to externalize

A betrayal like none other

I tried not to take it personally
I deliberately became calm and centered Adopting a philosophical and whimsical approach

I spoke in thought to my evacuating innards
Carefully explaining to the traitors
that without me......
They were nothing......nothing

I pried a pulmonary vein from a chair leg
And carefully folded it back inside my chest cavity

Nana nana boo boo

I looked about and drank in the bloody horrific scene.....
I resembled a grotesque emaciated octopus
Or that alien from Alien 2
Brutal and hardcore....

I've dealt with rejection all my life
But nothing can ever prepare you
.........for something of this magnitude

Hell......
I've had the pin pulled on me by the best

Generally what happens is :

They walk away shaking their heads
and blaming our association on either a momentary lapse of reason or alcohol consumption
.......or both

I never worried that much
I was never big on attachment anyway

See.....I was an only child
I was pretty much poisoned, early on by my own company

I wasn't always this detached though...
The catalyst was the day my imaginary friend ripped my heart out.

'Its not you, its me' said Randell
I closed down that day
And never saw him again

Anyhoo.......

I haven't moved from this sofa in like 22 hours
I physically can't......
My veins have anchored themselves
To a variety of heavy objects
I am pinned down and held to ransom
By my own body
A body I thought I knew well

A body I trusted.....

I hate to moan though
We all have our problems in life
This just took me by surprise is all
And I really need a change of underwear

I'll bounce back
I always do.......
Albeit anemic and pissed off

And I will extract revenge
Most probably through intravenous drug use

Cheers
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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 MandyMelanson

Dear Tumbleweed

Dear Tumbleweed without Roots,

Thank you.

What? Not the book to the back of your head you expected for your selfishness? True, you probably deserve exactly that, but I won't be the one to give you what you deserve. I'm better than that—and I've grown. You see, while you were away I learned a few things.

For that, I thank you.

You found me at my worst: desperate, heartbroken, and terrified. I thank you for taking my hand, as you led me through my darkest time. Scars of battles fought and won, had left me unable to trust, but you broke through that wall. 

For teaching me to trust again, I thank you.

Night after night, you talked to me. You actually listened, which was the craziest part. I’d never been truly heard by a man before.

For teaching me that my thoughts are valuable, I thank you.

As you helped me find my strength to focus and endure through the battle I faced, I came to rely on you. I felt like I needed you to push me, and you did--even beyond what I thought myself capable of doing. You showed me the power of my determination.

For teaching me to ignore the boundaries, I thank you.

When you left, at first I thought my world was crashing in around me because… Well, you were my world.

I lost focus.

I believed I needed you in order to be strong, and I forgot how to be me without you. I wanted to rely on you the way I became accustomed to. The truth is, that first week really sucked. I probably didn't do anything except spill a few coffee cups and tear-stain my favorite pillow.

But not now.

Now, I don't need to check when I see the green light blink on my phone. I know it isn't you.

Now, I don't have to rush to share the latest hilarious thing the kids just did, because I know you aren't there to listen.

Now, I don't feel the need to tell you that I'm going to the store, because you aren't there to notice when I'm gone.

Now, I don't wake up expecting a “good morning” message, because I know it won't be there.

You finally taught me how to no longer miss you—to no longer need you. I know who I am now, without you.

For that, I thank you.

Nostalgically no longer yours,

The Roots from 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 MandyMelanson
Dear Tumbleweed
Dear Tumbleweed without Roots,

Thank you.

What? Not the book to the back of your head you expected for your selfishness? True, you probably deserve exactly that, but I won't be the one to give you what you deserve. I'm better than that—and I've grown. You see, while you were away I learned a few things.

For that, I thank you.

You found me at my worst: desperate, heartbroken, and terrified. I thank you for taking my hand, as you led me through my darkest time. Scars of battles fought and won, had left me unable to trust, but you broke through that wall. 

For teaching me to trust again, I thank you.

Night after night, you talked to me. You actually listened, which was the craziest part. I’d never been truly heard by a man before.

For teaching me that my thoughts are valuable, I thank you.

As you helped me find my strength to focus and endure through the battle I faced, I came to rely on you. I felt like I needed you to push me, and you did--even beyond what I thought myself capable of doing. You showed me the power of my determination.

For teaching me to ignore the boundaries, I thank you.

When you left, at first I thought my world was crashing in around me because… Well, you were my world.

I lost focus.

I believed I needed you in order to be strong, and I forgot how to be me without you. I wanted to rely on you the way I became accustomed to. The truth is, that first week really sucked. I probably didn't do anything except spill a few coffee cups and tear-stain my favorite pillow.

But not now.

Now, I don't need to check when I see the green light blink on my phone. I know it isn't you.

Now, I don't have to rush to share the latest hilarious thing the kids just did, because I know you aren't there to listen.

Now, I don't feel the need to tell you that I'm going to the store, because you aren't there to notice when I'm gone.

Now, I don't wake up expecting a “good morning” message, because I know it won't be there.

You finally taught me how to no longer miss you—to no longer need you. I know who I am now, without you.

For that, I thank you.

Nostalgically no longer yours,
The Roots from 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 HazardRabbit

Gravy To My Mashed Potatoes

Elementary School. The house of worship for mothers and fathers. The house of rejection if you were a big-nosed dweeb like me. Where I grew up there were more fields then houses, people living far and few between. I was fortunate enough to live in that small middle class development along with that one other upper class development in the lower parts of town where all of the snotty little brat faces of the world lived. Their father's were teachers, lawyers, or anesthesiologists. Their mother's were bored lonely housewives who worked in retail. They hardly disciplined their children because their children were inherently perfect. And I? Was not.

Getting onto the school bus and walking down the narrow black aisle which always felt sticky under my purple Velcro sneakers felt like walking the green mile. I got head shakes no from the left and head shakes no from the right. This went on and on until the bus driver would yell "just sit down already!" One time, a girl I sat next to, with an esteem higher then deserved, rolled her eyes and licked her Hawaiian juice stained lips before commenting to my peers on how she was sitting next to the "fat girl." Ironically, I was thinner then her. Imagine that.

Gym. Need I say more? Yes, I was the last one picked to be on your team. You would all moan and groan too when I came awkwardly shuffling my feet, head down, towards your hyperactive tawny bodies. If I was feeling feisty that day I would shout "shut up!" to my crush when he would critique my jumping jacks.

When it was my turn to read aloud, my class snickered at how I pronounced my R's. They wrote on my birthday poster that I spoke funny. They pulled me from class to tell me I couldn't read. I was released back into the wild in a week when the teachers stopped listening to the children's plea for my departure.

Yearbook signings. I thought I was safe to ask the nerd to sign my yearbook. Let me tell you, I have never seen a face so disgusted as I did that day!

Aw, yes. Exclusion, and repulsion, had become the gravy to my mashed potatoes. Where I went sure enough so did rejection. My resolution? Be as quite as a mouse. Be as transparent as a ghost. Did it work out for me? I don't know. Here I am writing all by my lonesome on the computer, as quite as a mouse and transparent as a ghost on the topic of rejection. You tell me.

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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 HazardRabbit
Gravy To My Mashed Potatoes

Elementary School. The house of worship for mothers and fathers. The house of rejection if you were a big-nosed dweeb like me. Where I grew up there were more fields then houses, people living far and few between. I was fortunate enough to live in that small middle class development along with that one other upper class development in the lower parts of town where all of the snotty little brat faces of the world lived. Their father's were teachers, lawyers, or anesthesiologists. Their mother's were bored lonely housewives who worked in retail. They hardly disciplined their children because their children were inherently perfect. And I? Was not.

Getting onto the school bus and walking down the narrow black aisle which always felt sticky under my purple Velcro sneakers felt like walking the green mile. I got head shakes no from the left and head shakes no from the right. This went on and on until the bus driver would yell "just sit down already!" One time, a girl I sat next to, with an esteem higher then deserved, rolled her eyes and licked her Hawaiian juice stained lips before commenting to my peers on how she was sitting next to the "fat girl." Ironically, I was thinner then her. Imagine that.

Gym. Need I say more? Yes, I was the last one picked to be on your team. You would all moan and groan too when I came awkwardly shuffling my feet, head down, towards your hyperactive tawny bodies. If I was feeling feisty that day I would shout "shut up!" to my crush when he would critique my jumping jacks.

When it was my turn to read aloud, my class snickered at how I pronounced my R's. They wrote on my birthday poster that I spoke funny. They pulled me from class to tell me I couldn't read. I was released back into the wild in a week when the teachers stopped listening to the children's plea for my departure.

Yearbook signings. I thought I was safe to ask the nerd to sign my yearbook. Let me tell you, I have never seen a face so disgusted as I did that day!

Aw, yes. Exclusion, and repulsion, had become the gravy to my mashed potatoes. Where I went sure enough so did rejection. My resolution? Be as quite as a mouse. Be as transparent as a ghost. Did it work out for me? I don't know. Here I am writing all by my lonesome on the computer, as quite as a mouse and transparent as a ghost on the topic of rejection. You tell me.
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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 sandflea68

Immaculate Proposal

I had been watching her for a long time as she sat at the bar, sipping her drink, waiting for an attractive man to hit on her. When she didn’t get any immediate takers, she hitched up her skirt almost to the panty line and shifted her shapely ass on the bar stool in a fascinating concentric motion. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her but I knew the smart thing to do would be to bide my time until the moment was right. Sometimes, she would twirl her shiny ebony hair around her finger or flip it back from her face. I figured she was an avid reader of Cosmopolitan, swallowing the nonsense that this was the way to become a magnet for male attention. I watched with fascination as she swirled her drink with a finger and then sucked it into her moist pink mouth, in and out, in and out.

She was beautiful and mesmerizing as she played her little game. I knew if I just waited until she tired, I could make my move. Once in a while, her gaze would shift in my direction and I imagined that she showed a slight interest. I noticed that several men sat on the bar stool beside her and then left when she rejected them. Oh, this was such fun to watch. I realized she was waiting for me. I looked at her soulfully, certain that she would fall for my bait. For my ploy, and it had always worked in the past, was to wait until my target became tired of waiting and came to me.

After several hours of dangling her bait on her hook, she apparently tired of this pursuit and sauntered toward me. The desire for her almost overwhelmed me but she passed by my table without a glance and headed to the restroom. Unable to control myself, I followed her and waited outside the restroom door. As she walked out, she gave a quick look at me and walked right past me. Grabbing her arm, I told her to quit playing her game.

She laughed at me and said, “You’re wasting your time. I’m not turned on by you.” She made the mistake of smirking as she said it and that was the last thing she ever did as I plunged the knife into her belly.

That ought to keep these bitches from always rejecting me! I had the sudden urge to go home and scrub myself clean, once again. Mama always told me to stay away from these dirty, nasty whores and I was positive she would be waiting up for me, with milk and cookies, to hear my latest story.

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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 sandflea68
Immaculate Proposal
I had been watching her for a long time as she sat at the bar, sipping her drink, waiting for an attractive man to hit on her. When she didn’t get any immediate takers, she hitched up her skirt almost to the panty line and shifted her shapely ass on the bar stool in a fascinating concentric motion. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her but I knew the smart thing to do would be to bide my time until the moment was right. Sometimes, she would twirl her shiny ebony hair around her finger or flip it back from her face. I figured she was an avid reader of Cosmopolitan, swallowing the nonsense that this was the way to become a magnet for male attention. I watched with fascination as she swirled her drink with a finger and then sucked it into her moist pink mouth, in and out, in and out.

She was beautiful and mesmerizing as she played her little game. I knew if I just waited until she tired, I could make my move. Once in a while, her gaze would shift in my direction and I imagined that she showed a slight interest. I noticed that several men sat on the bar stool beside her and then left when she rejected them. Oh, this was such fun to watch. I realized she was waiting for me. I looked at her soulfully, certain that she would fall for my bait. For my ploy, and it had always worked in the past, was to wait until my target became tired of waiting and came to me.

After several hours of dangling her bait on her hook, she apparently tired of this pursuit and sauntered toward me. The desire for her almost overwhelmed me but she passed by my table without a glance and headed to the restroom. Unable to control myself, I followed her and waited outside the restroom door. As she walked out, she gave a quick look at me and walked right past me. Grabbing her arm, I told her to quit playing her game.

She laughed at me and said, “You’re wasting your time. I’m not turned on by you.” She made the mistake of smirking as she said it and that was the last thing she ever did as I plunged the knife into her belly.

That ought to keep these bitches from always rejecting me! I had the sudden urge to go home and scrub myself clean, once again. Mama always told me to stay away from these dirty, nasty whores and I was positive she would be waiting up for me, with milk and cookies, to hear my latest story.
#challenge  #rejection 
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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 LadyRB

The worst type of rejection

"Wow. Ok so it's going to be like this then? Ok fine. You know what? Screw you. I don't need you, screw you. I've been trying to make this work for what feels like ages and...and I'm just done! I'm done trying! Does that make you happy you piece of s***? You're full of crap I don't even know why I care so much. You took everything from me, that's all you do isn't it? You just take, take take, take. And I'm just supposed to expect nothing in return? I HAVE NEEDS! I JUST WANT SOME DAMN RESPECT! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FREAKING ASK? I want you to respect me, I want you to respect my money. I worked hard for that s*** ok? Who are you to just take it like that? And I ain't ever getting it back am I? Do you enjoy taking advantage of poor girls like me? Makes you feel real good about yourself doesn't it? But you ain't no human, you're a machine. You have no heart. You freaking got no heart! And you just looked too damn perfect and I believed in you. I believed in you. I could've picked another, but I picked YOU. I just feel so betrayed...I feel cheated, lied to, and...rejected. Screw you ok? Screw you!"

I watched in a sort of awed silence as the girl shouted all sorts of abuses, ending in a swift kick. When she looked like she was about to cry I finally interjected, "Ma'am, you know there's another vending machine upstairs right?"

"But it's out of the Nacho Cheese Doritos! Besides, this machine already took my money and is STILL saying that it has rejected my payment. UGHHH I just wanted some Doritos...."

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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 LadyRB
The worst type of rejection
"Wow. Ok so it's going to be like this then? Ok fine. You know what? Screw you. I don't need you, screw you. I've been trying to make this work for what feels like ages and...and I'm just done! I'm done trying! Does that make you happy you piece of s***? You're full of crap I don't even know why I care so much. You took everything from me, that's all you do isn't it? You just take, take take, take. And I'm just supposed to expect nothing in return? I HAVE NEEDS! I JUST WANT SOME DAMN RESPECT! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FREAKING ASK? I want you to respect me, I want you to respect my money. I worked hard for that s*** ok? Who are you to just take it like that? And I ain't ever getting it back am I? Do you enjoy taking advantage of poor girls like me? Makes you feel real good about yourself doesn't it? But you ain't no human, you're a machine. You have no heart. You freaking got no heart! And you just looked too damn perfect and I believed in you. I believed in you. I could've picked another, but I picked YOU. I just feel so betrayed...I feel cheated, lied to, and...rejected. Screw you ok? Screw you!"

I watched in a sort of awed silence as the girl shouted all sorts of abuses, ending in a swift kick. When she looked like she was about to cry I finally interjected, "Ma'am, you know there's another vending machine upstairs right?"

"But it's out of the Nacho Cheese Doritos! Besides, this machine already took my money and is STILL saying that it has rejected my payment. UGHHH I just wanted some Doritos...."
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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 ArianaLee721

so what are we doing here?

“Tonight’s the night,” I recited to myself, dick sliding in and out of my throat.

It’s hard to be too anxious about anything when you’re focusing on not gagging. But I had a plan: give head, use tongue, swallow, then come up and ask him. All without choking.

Swirling it around in my mouth, I couldn’t help beginning to get nervous again. We’d been doing this for almost three months and it was only about a month ago that I got that awful, vaguely indigestive feeling that I kind of definitely wanted more. He was funny, and smart, and nicer than most ponytail-sporting guitar players I’d fucked around with before. He didn’t do the thing where he disappeared for days on end then texted me paragraphs about how he “just needed some space from the world.” He never even texted after midnight, except for that one time.

We had met at one of those friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend parties, the kind at which you always hope to meet someone because it’s a room full of strangers about your own age. I didn’t go home with him that night—I made a point of not going home with him that night, because I am trying to turn over a new leaf, dammit—but I gave him my number, and he texted me the very next day. We went to dinner. I went home with him that night.

I was pretty sure that night that I’d be happy only seeing him a few more times. He was impressive for about an hour, but hearing him talk long enough, it became clear that all his music knowledge, philosophy knowledge, it’s all just a veneer just thick enough to hide the fact that he’s a big dumb nerd just like me. I certainly don’t want to date me. But after several more porkings than I anticipated, he started to grow on me. You know the way. Like weeds.

Just as I began reciting the words in my head—“So I’ve been thinking, what are we doing here? Because I was wondering if you might want to—” his dick began pulsating and my mouth filled with that salty taste. I swallowed, because I’m a keeper, and came up for air. Braced myself.

“So, what are we doing here?” He had beaten me to it.

“Because...I’ve been seeing some other people. I like what we have going on here, I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” I finished swallowing.

“Yeah, same.” I smiled and took my top off.

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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 ArianaLee721
so what are we doing here?
“Tonight’s the night,” I recited to myself, dick sliding in and out of my throat.

It’s hard to be too anxious about anything when you’re focusing on not gagging. But I had a plan: give head, use tongue, swallow, then come up and ask him. All without choking.

Swirling it around in my mouth, I couldn’t help beginning to get nervous again. We’d been doing this for almost three months and it was only about a month ago that I got that awful, vaguely indigestive feeling that I kind of definitely wanted more. He was funny, and smart, and nicer than most ponytail-sporting guitar players I’d fucked around with before. He didn’t do the thing where he disappeared for days on end then texted me paragraphs about how he “just needed some space from the world.” He never even texted after midnight, except for that one time.

We had met at one of those friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend parties, the kind at which you always hope to meet someone because it’s a room full of strangers about your own age. I didn’t go home with him that night—I made a point of not going home with him that night, because I am trying to turn over a new leaf, dammit—but I gave him my number, and he texted me the very next day. We went to dinner. I went home with him that night.

I was pretty sure that night that I’d be happy only seeing him a few more times. He was impressive for about an hour, but hearing him talk long enough, it became clear that all his music knowledge, philosophy knowledge, it’s all just a veneer just thick enough to hide the fact that he’s a big dumb nerd just like me. I certainly don’t want to date me. But after several more porkings than I anticipated, he started to grow on me. You know the way. Like weeds.

Just as I began reciting the words in my head—“So I’ve been thinking, what are we doing here? Because I was wondering if you might want to—” his dick began pulsating and my mouth filled with that salty taste. I swallowed, because I’m a keeper, and came up for air. Braced myself.

“So, what are we doing here?” He had beaten me to it.

“Because...I’ve been seeing some other people. I like what we have going on here, I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” I finished swallowing.

“Yeah, same.” I smiled and took my top off.
#romance  #sex  #erotica  #millennial  #hookup 
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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 James

Pulsar

       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublime dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.

   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whiskey became his buds.

     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"

He flares like a discharge of molten plasma

      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."

The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like  thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particle of moments was rich with love.

          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.

`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.

                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."

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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 James
Pulsar
       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublime dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.
   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whiskey became his buds.
     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"
He flares like a discharge of molten plasma
      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."
The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like  thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particle of moments was rich with love.
          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.
`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.
                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."
#fiction  #education  #science  #opinion  #getlit 
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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 melodious_bird

Left Behind

Her emerald, almond shaped eyes shone in the dimly lit Cafe and her wheezy breaths reverberated throughout the sparsely filled Cafe.

Her unblinking eyes kept staring at me filled with a foreign emotion unknown to my troubled soul. As she took a step towards me, I moved backwards.

Her puffed up eyes begged for forgiveness but my stone cold heart remained rigid, unyielding to love.

She opened her chapped lips to say something but no words came out. It's hard to repent for mistakes you once took as decisions.

No words came out of my parched throat either and for a few moments a mother and her daughter stood in deafening silence, only separated by several feet and two decades.

And then as if she had found her voice she said, " I'm sorry."

She continued as she saw the shift in my emotions, as my fragile features softened.

"I shouldn't have left you behind. Oh you don't know how much I missed you. My heart always yearned for your presence. I love you so much."

Now she was standing before me her old wrinkled hands held my trembling ones.

Part of me wanted to embrace her and forget the pain and the heartache she had caused. But whenever I looked at her face I saw my sisters lifeless face in bathtub, jets of crimson blood flowing down her slender arms. And my father crashing on the ground, drinking away his sorrows and my own misery at being a reject. A girl whose mother had abandoned her when she was just two.

Clenching my jaws and putting on a facade to hide my conflicted emotions. I took a step away from her, she winced in pain as if I had slapped her across the face. I closed my eyes trying to erase the image from my head and without turning back I left.

I could hear her apologies even when I was two streets away, her words continued to echo in my mind late that night. I was held under the grasp of insomnia asking me to reconsider my harsh decision.

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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 melodious_bird
Left Behind
Her emerald, almond shaped eyes shone in the dimly lit Cafe and her wheezy breaths reverberated throughout the sparsely filled Cafe.
Her unblinking eyes kept staring at me filled with a foreign emotion unknown to my troubled soul. As she took a step towards me, I moved backwards.
Her puffed up eyes begged for forgiveness but my stone cold heart remained rigid, unyielding to love.
She opened her chapped lips to say something but no words came out. It's hard to repent for mistakes you once took as decisions.
No words came out of my parched throat either and for a few moments a mother and her daughter stood in deafening silence, only separated by several feet and two decades.
And then as if she had found her voice she said, " I'm sorry."
She continued as she saw the shift in my emotions, as my fragile features softened.
"I shouldn't have left you behind. Oh you don't know how much I missed you. My heart always yearned for your presence. I love you so much."
Now she was standing before me her old wrinkled hands held my trembling ones.
Part of me wanted to embrace her and forget the pain and the heartache she had caused. But whenever I looked at her face I saw my sisters lifeless face in bathtub, jets of crimson blood flowing down her slender arms. And my father crashing on the ground, drinking away his sorrows and my own misery at being a reject. A girl whose mother had abandoned her when she was just two.
Clenching my jaws and putting on a facade to hide my conflicted emotions. I took a step away from her, she winced in pain as if I had slapped her across the face. I closed my eyes trying to erase the image from my head and without turning back I left.
I could hear her apologies even when I was two streets away, her words continued to echo in my mind late that night. I was held under the grasp of insomnia asking me to reconsider my harsh decision.
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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 ElegantHedgehog

Seppuku

"The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection."

When I was six I was frightened of thunderstorms. I used to curl myself in my bed, wrapping my fingers around the edge of my doona as I pulled it tight over me. My mum used to come in and when she'd see me there she'd smile. Not in a condescending way, like most adults look at kids nowadays, but a kind, warm, loving, fatherly way. She'd say to me, 

"Takao, the earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal," I don't know why she told me that. We weren't really religious. I wasn't crying out in bitter remorse. I was just a six-year-old who was afraid of thunder.

Now my mother's words ring louder than ever.

Death must come with honour. Death must come with honour. Death must come with honour.

This has been drilled into my head at military training before the war even began. Now I am surrounded by foreigners, the enemy. I grasp the handle of my sword, ready. I hold the blade out, cupped in both my hands and kneel on one knee as if making an offering at the altar. I then rise, twist the sword so the tip of the blade is against my abdomen. Ready. Set. Go. Now!

But I can't. Because just like when I was six, I am scared. Scared to die.

The enemy is closing in, if I don't commit seppuku now, I will be captured. And if I live, and go home, I will be rejected. Prisoners of war don't receive the warmest welcome in Japan because we are taught to die as a samurai, so that we are not captured. Even if I am captured and killed without needing to face the overwhelming sense of rejection, I will not have died with honour. I must do it now. Now!

The sound of gunfire engulfs me...

When I was a child, I was afraid of thunderstorms. Now I am afraid of rejection. But I am also afraid of death. Which do I choose? Do I die with honour, or to live and be rejected by not just my friends and my family, but my country as well? To be a disgrace, an outsider, a discard?

The coarse voices of men, sobered by battle, surround me...

Now. Now! Now!

They will find me soon...

Surrender or die? Rejection or death?

Death must come with honour.

The earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. I am ready now. I am a coward, wounded by the scarring images of life and death, but terrified of rejection. More so than death.

My death has come with honour.

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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 ElegantHedgehog
Seppuku
"The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection."

When I was six I was frightened of thunderstorms. I used to curl myself in my bed, wrapping my fingers around the edge of my doona as I pulled it tight over me. My mum used to come in and when she'd see me there she'd smile. Not in a condescending way, like most adults look at kids nowadays, but a kind, warm, loving, fatherly way. She'd say to me, 
"Takao, the earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal," I don't know why she told me that. We weren't really religious. I wasn't crying out in bitter remorse. I was just a six-year-old who was afraid of thunder.
Now my mother's words ring louder than ever.


Death must come with honour. Death must come with honour. Death must come with honour.
This has been drilled into my head at military training before the war even began. Now I am surrounded by foreigners, the enemy. I grasp the handle of my sword, ready. I hold the blade out, cupped in both my hands and kneel on one knee as if making an offering at the altar. I then rise, twist the sword so the tip of the blade is against my abdomen. Ready. Set. Go. Now!
But I can't. Because just like when I was six, I am scared. Scared to die.
The enemy is closing in, if I don't commit seppuku now, I will be captured. And if I live, and go home, I will be rejected. Prisoners of war don't receive the warmest welcome in Japan because we are taught to die as a samurai, so that we are not captured. Even if I am captured and killed without needing to face the overwhelming sense of rejection, I will not have died with honour. I must do it now. Now!
The sound of gunfire engulfs me...
When I was a child, I was afraid of thunderstorms. Now I am afraid of rejection. But I am also afraid of death. Which do I choose? Do I die with honour, or to live and be rejected by not just my friends and my family, but my country as well? To be a disgrace, an outsider, a discard?
The coarse voices of men, sobered by battle, surround me...
Now. Now! Now!
They will find me soon...
Surrender or die? Rejection or death?
Death must come with honour.
The earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. I am ready now. I am a coward, wounded by the scarring images of life and death, but terrified of rejection. More so than death.
My death has come with honour.
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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 HanneloreBrun

To be an ant.

A piece of mulch pokes my foot bringing my run to a stop. I yank off my tennis shoe and empty it out. I watch the hole for my foot until the piece falls out.

Pushing my foot in I squeeze it through till my shoe pops on, nobody here knows I can't tie yet.

I stand up and brush off the shorts my sister used to wear. I look at the playground around me and smile very big.

This place is good, I am safe here. He's gone now. I silently thank God that my mom brought us here, she tells me he is always listening. She also said because of God that we are here, safe. I like being safe.

I remember the last time he hurt me and tears burn my eyes, I don't want to cry.

I run really fast to the swing and jump on it using the chains on each side to sit in place.

I push off hard with my feet.

1. Swing with my legs back and forth.

2. Start to lean forwards and backwards with my body.

3. Lean my head backs and let my hair hang upside down.

4. Hang on!

The feeling hits me, right in my tummy. I swing my head back up and laugh. I love the swingswet. I take another look around me, recess is fun everywhere, I think.

A group of girls catch my eye at the tree and I decide to be brave.

"Hi! May I play too? You all look like you're having fun!" I repeat it in my head, "Hi! May I play too? You all look like you're having fun!" I even practice whispering it, walking really slowly all the way over to the tree. I hold my fists really tight and keep my chin up. I only have to be brave for ten seconds!

Here it is, the tallest girl looks up at me. The other two turn and do the same. I get excited, scared and then excited again.

"Hi! Um, I'm Hanne, I'm new here. It looks you're having fun," I stop, my hands are all shaky. I don't think they like me. They don't like me. "I was just wondering if, um, you'd like to play. I mean if I could - "

"Bye." The tallest one said it.

"Uh" I turn and walk away, digging into my pockets. There's that feeling again. My throat starts to hurt and my chest feels heavy. I walk to the border of the jungle gym and sit on the wall that keeps all of the mulch in. My tears are falling but I don't care. I know this feeling.

I don't know these people and they don't care about me. That hurts.

Why does everything has to hurt? Will it get better? I stare at an ant that has a piece of food. I watch the ant crawl to its hill and go inside.

I wish I were an ant.

23
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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 HanneloreBrun
To be an ant.
A piece of mulch pokes my foot bringing my run to a stop. I yank off my tennis shoe and empty it out. I watch the hole for my foot until the piece falls out.

Pushing my foot in I squeeze it through till my shoe pops on, nobody here knows I can't tie yet.

I stand up and brush off the shorts my sister used to wear. I look at the playground around me and smile very big.

This place is good, I am safe here. He's gone now. I silently thank God that my mom brought us here, she tells me he is always listening. She also said because of God that we are here, safe. I like being safe.

I remember the last time he hurt me and tears burn my eyes, I don't want to cry.

I run really fast to the swing and jump on it using the chains on each side to sit in place.

I push off hard with my feet.

1. Swing with my legs back and forth.
2. Start to lean forwards and backwards with my body.
3. Lean my head backs and let my hair hang upside down.
4. Hang on!

The feeling hits me, right in my tummy. I swing my head back up and laugh. I love the swingswet. I take another look around me, recess is fun everywhere, I think.

A group of girls catch my eye at the tree and I decide to be brave.

"Hi! May I play too? You all look like you're having fun!" I repeat it in my head, "Hi! May I play too? You all look like you're having fun!" I even practice whispering it, walking really slowly all the way over to the tree. I hold my fists really tight and keep my chin up. I only have to be brave for ten seconds!

Here it is, the tallest girl looks up at me. The other two turn and do the same. I get excited, scared and then excited again.

"Hi! Um, I'm Hanne, I'm new here. It looks you're having fun," I stop, my hands are all shaky. I don't think they like me. They don't like me. "I was just wondering if, um, you'd like to play. I mean if I could - "

"Bye." The tallest one said it.

"Uh" I turn and walk away, digging into my pockets. There's that feeling again. My throat starts to hurt and my chest feels heavy. I walk to the border of the jungle gym and sit on the wall that keeps all of the mulch in. My tears are falling but I don't care. I know this feeling.

I don't know these people and they don't care about me. That hurts.

Why does everything has to hurt? Will it get better? I stare at an ant that has a piece of food. I watch the ant crawl to its hill and go inside.

I wish I were an ant.
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Juice
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