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I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by sandflea68 in portal Flash Fiction

Dolls

She lined up the family of dolls on an afghan covered sofa and stood back to admire her work. There was the Mama dressed up in her ‘going to church’ outfit wearing her ugly comfort shoes. Papa was scowling, holding his briefcase in front of him as if to ward off bothersome children. The little flaxen haired doll, Benny, was holding his arm back as if to throw a baseball. Beautiful little Jenny was wearing her pink smocked party dress and black patent leather shoes.

She noticed their clothes were getting a little rumpled, so she’d have to wash and iron them. Their heads were beginning to loll on their chests so she planned to reinforce them with rods to stand straight.

Oh yes, she was proud of her little tableau of dolls. But what was she going to do about that rotten smell emanating from their bodies?

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I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by sandflea68 in portal Flash Fiction
Dolls
She lined up the family of dolls on an afghan covered sofa and stood back to admire her work. There was the Mama dressed up in her ‘going to church’ outfit wearing her ugly comfort shoes. Papa was scowling, holding his briefcase in front of him as if to ward off bothersome children. The little flaxen haired doll, Benny, was holding his arm back as if to throw a baseball. Beautiful little Jenny was wearing her pink smocked party dress and black patent leather shoes.

She noticed their clothes were getting a little rumpled, so she’d have to wash and iron them. Their heads were beginning to loll on their chests so she planned to reinforce them with rods to stand straight.

Oh yes, she was proud of her little tableau of dolls. But what was she going to do about that rotten smell emanating from their bodies?

#challenge  #shortstory  #flashfiction 
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Written by StephanieMarie in portal Fiction

Growing up is never easy. It's not repetitive movements or memorization. There is no laid out track to keep you heading in the direction you need to be. It's more like taking a small sail boat and releasing it out into the chopping waves. The sail will catch the wind and ocean will take you, but without a rudder you can't steer.

That's what Jerry was, a rudder. My rudder specifically. Whenever the waters got too rough he was there to push me through. I was more the sail drifting whichever way the wind wanted to blow.

I think you kind of know the day when a person like that enters your life. A person that someday will become as solid as the ground you kiss.

We were probably both about ten when that day happened. My father was a trawler on a ship that went belly up. Financially so to speak, and he had taken a spot on the "Lobster Pot". A stocky brick of a ship that unsurprisingly never caught lobster. Jerry's dad was also a trawler on The Pot and he and Dad clicked. They drug nets faster then any other boat.

I spent a lot of time on the docks. I got to know the yardmen and they kept an eye on me.

Not that day though.

I had spotted what I thought would be a nice place to spend the afternoon on the other side of the bay. A small beach with just the right amount of sun. At ten years old you get crazy ideas. I had decided to take a swim across a sloshy ship filled bay. I had stripped down my slacks and was telling my toes that the water wasn't that cold when Jerry spotted me.

He suggested that we take one of the oar boats from beside the main dock. I hadn't even thought of the oar boats. They were something like a safety code. Man overboards and such. We clicked.

We untied that oar boat dropped into the bay, and I swear to god we never got back out.

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Written by StephanieMarie in portal Fiction
Growing up is never easy. It's not repetitive movements or memorization. There is no laid out track to keep you heading in the direction you need to be. It's more like taking a small sail boat and releasing it out into the chopping waves. The sail will catch the wind and ocean will take you, but without a rudder you can't steer.
That's what Jerry was, a rudder. My rudder specifically. Whenever the waters got too rough he was there to push me through. I was more the sail drifting whichever way the wind wanted to blow.
I think you kind of know the day when a person like that enters your life. A person that someday will become as solid as the ground you kiss.
We were probably both about ten when that day happened. My father was a trawler on a ship that went belly up. Financially so to speak, and he had taken a spot on the "Lobster Pot". A stocky brick of a ship that unsurprisingly never caught lobster. Jerry's dad was also a trawler on The Pot and he and Dad clicked. They drug nets faster then any other boat.
I spent a lot of time on the docks. I got to know the yardmen and they kept an eye on me.
Not that day though.
I had spotted what I thought would be a nice place to spend the afternoon on the other side of the bay. A small beach with just the right amount of sun. At ten years old you get crazy ideas. I had decided to take a swim across a sloshy ship filled bay. I had stripped down my slacks and was telling my toes that the water wasn't that cold when Jerry spotted me.
He suggested that we take one of the oar boats from beside the main dock. I hadn't even thought of the oar boats. They were something like a safety code. Man overboards and such. We clicked.
We untied that oar boat dropped into the bay, and I swear to god we never got back out.
#fiction  #shortstory  #freeverse  #justanidea  #idontwritetheseoften 
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I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by WhiteRaven in portal Flash Fiction

Another

There was another.

I've heard of her. 

She walks with a limp. Stray eyes would slip and forget at first glance.

But I see straight through her.

Shes an unknown.

She's an Angel.

Not in the strictest sense of the word.

But an angel of The Wood.

I've watched her mend a burnt gash in bark, breathe life into a drooping toadstool. 

Call on the earth and grow a dozen black roses in the dead of December.

Just because she could.

I've seen her smile the way people do when they think they're alone.

Except I was watching and she could only assume paranoia at my presence. 

Tick tick tick went her intuition but she tamped it with a shaky smile.

She'll tack it as waylaid anxiety. 

Why does she ignore a dying tree?

All I asked was for her to turn around.

But she is too young to see. 

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I'm enamored of short-form writing - micropoetry, flash fiction, etc. For this challenge, write an ultrashort story (150 words or fewer). It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will do one, too. Tag me @ruffmiriam
Written by WhiteRaven in portal Flash Fiction
Another
There was another.
I've heard of her. 
She walks with a limp. Stray eyes would slip and forget at first glance.
But I see straight through her.
Shes an unknown.
She's an Angel.
Not in the strictest sense of the word.
But an angel of The Wood.
I've watched her mend a burnt gash in bark, breathe life into a drooping toadstool. 
Call on the earth and grow a dozen black roses in the dead of December.
Just because she could.
I've seen her smile the way people do when they think they're alone.
Except I was watching and she could only assume paranoia at my presence. 
Tick tick tick went her intuition but she tamped it with a shaky smile.
She'll tack it as waylaid anxiety. 
Why does she ignore a dying tree?
All I asked was for her to turn around.
But she is too young to see. 
#shortstory  #regret  #losthope 
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Written by Winterreign

Picture perfect

There once was a man

Named the doll keeper

He made the most

Beautiful dolls

With rosy cheeks

And face filled

with pretty makeup

And super skinny bodies

And dressed them up

In elegant clothing

With high heels

And perfect hair

They were the most

Beautiful dolls

In the world

He tried to master

The perfect dolls

With no insecurities and flaws

He hated ugly dolls

He couldn't stand

Less than perfect

They had to be perfect

If there is an ounce

Of imperfections or scratch

He would throw and lock

Them away with

The rest of the other broken dolls

He made sure the dolls

Only ate healthy food

And no junk food

He made sure

They got their

Daily dose of exercise

Every single day

If the dolls tried to eat unhealthy

He would punish them

And make them throw it out

And exercise

He forces the dolls

To act the way he wishes them to

And tells them what to say

And forces them to

Call him master

The doll master controls

Each of their movements

And if they ever disobey him

He would torture the dolls

Until they behave properly

The doll master also

had his favourite dolls

Which he takes advantage

Of and plays with them

During play time

He had an obsession with dolls

And built them a

Giant dollhouse

For the dolls to live and play in

But if the dolls behave badly

We'll let's just say

You don't want to know

What twisted things

He does to these

picture perfect dolls

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Written by Winterreign
Picture perfect
There once was a man
Named the doll keeper
He made the most
Beautiful dolls
With rosy cheeks
And face filled
with pretty makeup
And super skinny bodies
And dressed them up
In elegant clothing
With high heels
And perfect hair
They were the most
Beautiful dolls
In the world
He tried to master
The perfect dolls
With no insecurities and flaws
He hated ugly dolls
He couldn't stand
Less than perfect
They had to be perfect
If there is an ounce
Of imperfections or scratch
He would throw and lock
Them away with
The rest of the other broken dolls
He made sure the dolls
Only ate healthy food
And no junk food
He made sure
They got their
Daily dose of exercise
Every single day
If the dolls tried to eat unhealthy
He would punish them
And make them throw it out
And exercise
He forces the dolls
To act the way he wishes them to
And tells them what to say
And forces them to
Call him master
The doll master controls
Each of their movements
And if they ever disobey him
He would torture the dolls
Until they behave properly
The doll master also
had his favourite dolls
Which he takes advantage
Of and plays with them
During play time
He had an obsession with dolls
And built them a
Giant dollhouse
For the dolls to live and play in
But if the dolls behave badly
We'll let's just say
You don't want to know
What twisted things
He does to these
picture perfect dolls
#horror  #shortstory  #perfect  #dolls 
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Written by Winterreign

Magnetic entice

Title idea by @xlachrymose thank you!Part two: warning : erotic & bad attempt at writing a story.

I lay down on the bed naked as he tied my hands to the bed post so I couldn't move then he covered my whole body with warm oil,

His hands starts massaging my breasts making me moan in pleasure as he kept fondling them and pinching the tips with his fingers. Then he took one of the tips in his mouth and began to suck on it first gently then harder. He ran his tongue around the tip and sucked on it hard making my cave of wonders a little wet.

He made his way to my entrance and began licking my clit, running his tongue in a smooth motion. I bit my lips as his tongue moved up and down my clit. I moaned as he sucked on my clit making me even more turned on , he stuck two fingers inside my cave of wonders fingering me while sucking and licking my clit. It felt so damn good that I couldn't hold in my moans anymore. Fuck, I wanted him inside me right now. I start grinding against his fingers, pushing him deeper into me. He then took the vibrator from the bed, turned it on and ran it against my clit for a little bit before inserting it inside my entrance. He pushed it in and out of my pussy for a couple of minutes.

" fuck, your going to make me cum." I said breathlessly.

But as soon as I was about to cum, he stopped as if he was teasing me. My whole body was on fire , I could feel my pussy pulsating back and forth and i desperately needed that release.

" goddamn, your all wet for me baby." He whispered, swearing under his breath.

" fuck I want you so badly, please give it to me."I said softly looking at him seductively.

He poured some oil on my pussy and his erect throbbing penis before inserting himself inside my cave of wonders. He started thrusting into me slow at first then increased his speed to hard. I moaned still feeling my pussy vibrating to each thrust, he managed to find my g -spot and he was moaning which was so hot. It was ten times better feeling his erect penis inside of me instead of the vibrator. Goddamn I couldn't get enough of him, i could feel myself getting close to my release.

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Written by Winterreign
Magnetic entice
Title idea by @xlachrymose thank you!Part two: warning : erotic & bad attempt at writing a story.
I lay down on the bed naked as he tied my hands to the bed post so I couldn't move then he covered my whole body with warm oil,
His hands starts massaging my breasts making me moan in pleasure as he kept fondling them and pinching the tips with his fingers. Then he took one of the tips in his mouth and began to suck on it first gently then harder. He ran his tongue around the tip and sucked on it hard making my cave of wonders a little wet.
He made his way to my entrance and began licking my clit, running his tongue in a smooth motion. I bit my lips as his tongue moved up and down my clit. I moaned as he sucked on my clit making me even more turned on , he stuck two fingers inside my cave of wonders fingering me while sucking and licking my clit. It felt so damn good that I couldn't hold in my moans anymore. Fuck, I wanted him inside me right now. I start grinding against his fingers, pushing him deeper into me. He then took the vibrator from the bed, turned it on and ran it against my clit for a little bit before inserting it inside my entrance. He pushed it in and out of my pussy for a couple of minutes.

" fuck, your going to make me cum." I said breathlessly.

But as soon as I was about to cum, he stopped as if he was teasing me. My whole body was on fire , I could feel my pussy pulsating back and forth and i desperately needed that release.

" goddamn, your all wet for me baby." He whispered, swearing under his breath.

" fuck I want you so badly, please give it to me."I said softly looking at him seductively.

He poured some oil on my pussy and his erect throbbing penis before inserting himself inside my cave of wonders. He started thrusting into me slow at first then increased his speed to hard. I moaned still feeling my pussy vibrating to each thrust, he managed to find my g -spot and he was moaning which was so hot. It was ten times better feeling his erect penis inside of me instead of the vibrator. Goddamn I couldn't get enough of him, i could feel myself getting close to my release.



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

Blow, Baby.

On regular days, Rue stood at 5'2. She was a mutt in her own beautiful way; her mother was very French, right down to her thighs. Her father was some kind of German- Dahl.

But on Thursday nights like this one, she towered to 5'8.

Rue twisted her damp braids as she leaned against the glass of the phone booth. It was nearly midnight. Maxwell would be calling. The street was emptier than usual, she thought to herself.

11:59.

It had been raining for 5 days in a row. The gutters were flooded with filthy water, pushing wrappers and a used condom down the street. She wished she had brought her coat.

Ring, ring.

Rue gripped the handle of the phone and wavered.

Ring, ring, ring.

She had never missed a call from Maxwell. He had a quick hand and an even quicker temper from what she heard from the other girls. But tonight, on this Thursday night, she let it ring until it exhausted itself.

Her breath fogged up the booth. It didn't matter, anyway. She had already made up her mind. By sunrise, she would be collapsed in the alley way behind the after-hours club, sprawled beneath the flickering No Smoking sign. One quick injection and it would all be over.

Rue lit a cigarette and picked up the phone book. With an exhale of smoke, she closed her eyes and threw her finger down on a page.

Hannah. Stephen Hannah. 4673 Juniper Street Apartment 103. She picked up the phone and sank to the wet floor of the booth, cross-legged. She dialed her unknowing friend.

The sleepy stranger answered.

"Hello?"

"I'm going to kill myself tonight," said Rue in a low voice unfamiliar to her own ears.

Silence.

She twirled the steel chord in her hand.

A deep sigh ahhhhed from the receiver. "On a Thursday night?"

Rue's eyes glanced at her watch. 12:06. "It's Friday now, man."

"Fuck. So it is," replied the stranger named Stephen. "Who is this?"

"You can call me baby, baby. Listen, I need a drink. I need to get out of here. I'm two blocks away from you."

"You can't just fucking call a stranger at 12:06 and request a fucking drink and expect them to join you."

"Well," she answered blowing smoke from her lips, "you answered. You shouldn't answer calls in the middle of the night if you're not ready to jump at an emergency."

"What kind of fucked up game are you-"

"Do you get high?"

The stranger paused. "What?"

"Do you get high? Do you want to?"

"Fuck. What the fuck... baby? Okay, fuck it. Where do I meet you?"

A smile stretched along her face. On last drag, smoked down to the filter. In a low whisper she said, "Apartment 103." Click.

The stranger opened the door in a tattered blue robe. Rue held out a bottle of whiskey. "Drink?"

"I'm dreaming," said the stranger as he partly opened the door. In she went. She slipped off her heels and found her way to the kitchen. The door closed behind them. The apartment was lived in, to say the least. He must have been some kind of writer. There were papers strewn about, clippings from magazines and encyclopedias. The sofa had marbled ink stains on it from calligraphy pen spills. Rue pulled herself on top of the kitchen counter to reach the cabinets.

"Hey, hey- watch it... what the hell is your name anyways? Hey get down!"

She looked over her left shoulder. "I told you to call me baby. It's nicer this way. You got glasses up here?"

"Yeah, on the right."

Rue brought down two whiskey glasses and poured them full.

"Jesus. Alright, baby. You got my attention. What do you have for me?"

Rue pushed the glass in front of him. "Is that all I'm good for? What ever happened to talking? You know, getting to know a person before you get blown?"

The stranger took a gulp from his glass and she did the same. "Alright, you like music?" asked the stranger. "Never mind. Hold on. Just, sit down over there." He motioned to the orange sofa in the living room. The one with all the ink spills. He disappeared into the dark hallway. A record needle scratched. Crackle. Cue Sleepwalk, Santo & Johnny. "What's good, baby? What's this talk about dying on a Thurs- sorry, Friday night."

"I was only joking, mister. I needed to get the hell out of there. Maxwell was coming to find me. He would have killed me anyways, you know, if he just saw me standing there."

"What the fuck kind of joke is that?!" yelled the stranger, spilling some of his whiskey.

"Hey, calm down, honey. It's not a joke. I really could have died tonight."

"Who the fuck is Maxwell? Your boyfriend?"

Rue stared down at her drink. "No, man. He's my...boss. He's my boss and I was supposed to work tonight, but, fuck it to hell, right?" She took a long, loving swallow. The stranger's eyes followed her silhouette from her tangled hair to the bottom of her pink fishnets. His face softened. "Hey, let's talk about something else, honey. I found you in the phone book. You must be single. No way a woman would let you live like this."

The stranger drank. "No woman. I don't need a woman telling me what to do. Women are trouble."

The record was on repeat. Something about the apartment was comforting to Rue. Suddenly, she pulled out a little bag full of white magic from her purse, along with a razor blade and mirror. Methodically, she placed each item on the coffee table between them as if they were offerings. She hummed quietly to the song that was playing for the third time.

Eight exquisite lines of cocaine begged to be consumed in front of their faces. Rue bent down, bowing to the stranger, and took a long inhale. She looked up at him with big, blue watery eyes. Her nose was powdery and pink. With a $100 clutched in between her teeth, she melted onto the floor and crawled over to him on her hands and knees.

"Blow, baby," said Rue groggily.

The stranger bent down over her and sniffed up a couple of lines. The room begun to buzz. "Jesus, baby. That's some strong-" Her lips fell onto the strangers lap. He took her chin into his hand and stared into her bloodshot eyes. "You're high baby."

"Blow, baby?" said the groggy girl with pouty lips.

The room continued to vibrate as he fucked her mouth. The song played 10 more times.

Sometime between her first orgasm and the sound of the garbage truck's squealing brakes, they fell asleep on the carpeted living room floor.

Gently, Rue began to wake up. The stranger slept peacefully with robe undone. She checked her watch one last time. 7:09. The sun was threatening to rise. She rolled over and gingerly kissed his shoulder blade.

Quietly gathering her shoes and purse, she hit the last couple lines of coke. She took her watch off and set it beside a napkin on the coffee table which read, "I'm so happy I called you. -Rue Dahl"

Out she slipped into the morning frost to meet the flickering No Smoking lights.

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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by VictoriaLucas
Blow, Baby.
On regular days, Rue stood at 5'2. She was a mutt in her own beautiful way; her mother was very French, right down to her thighs. Her father was some kind of German- Dahl.

But on Thursday nights like this one, she towered to 5'8.

Rue twisted her damp braids as she leaned against the glass of the phone booth. It was nearly midnight. Maxwell would be calling. The street was emptier than usual, she thought to herself.

11:59.

It had been raining for 5 days in a row. The gutters were flooded with filthy water, pushing wrappers and a used condom down the street. She wished she had brought her coat.

Ring, ring.

Rue gripped the handle of the phone and wavered.

Ring, ring, ring.

She had never missed a call from Maxwell. He had a quick hand and an even quicker temper from what she heard from the other girls. But tonight, on this Thursday night, she let it ring until it exhausted itself.

Her breath fogged up the booth. It didn't matter, anyway. She had already made up her mind. By sunrise, she would be collapsed in the alley way behind the after-hours club, sprawled beneath the flickering No Smoking sign. One quick injection and it would all be over.

Rue lit a cigarette and picked up the phone book. With an exhale of smoke, she closed her eyes and threw her finger down on a page.

Hannah. Stephen Hannah. 4673 Juniper Street Apartment 103. She picked up the phone and sank to the wet floor of the booth, cross-legged. She dialed her unknowing friend.

The sleepy stranger answered.

"Hello?"

"I'm going to kill myself tonight," said Rue in a low voice unfamiliar to her own ears.

Silence.

She twirled the steel chord in her hand.

A deep sigh ahhhhed from the receiver. "On a Thursday night?"

Rue's eyes glanced at her watch. 12:06. "It's Friday now, man."

"Fuck. So it is," replied the stranger named Stephen. "Who is this?"

"You can call me baby, baby. Listen, I need a drink. I need to get out of here. I'm two blocks away from you."

"You can't just fucking call a stranger at 12:06 and request a fucking drink and expect them to join you."

"Well," she answered blowing smoke from her lips, "you answered. You shouldn't answer calls in the middle of the night if you're not ready to jump at an emergency."

"What kind of fucked up game are you-"

"Do you get high?"

The stranger paused. "What?"

"Do you get high? Do you want to?"

"Fuck. What the fuck... baby? Okay, fuck it. Where do I meet you?"

A smile stretched along her face. On last drag, smoked down to the filter. In a low whisper she said, "Apartment 103." Click.

The stranger opened the door in a tattered blue robe. Rue held out a bottle of whiskey. "Drink?"

"I'm dreaming," said the stranger as he partly opened the door. In she went. She slipped off her heels and found her way to the kitchen. The door closed behind them. The apartment was lived in, to say the least. He must have been some kind of writer. There were papers strewn about, clippings from magazines and encyclopedias. The sofa had marbled ink stains on it from calligraphy pen spills. Rue pulled herself on top of the kitchen counter to reach the cabinets.

"Hey, hey- watch it... what the hell is your name anyways? Hey get down!"

She looked over her left shoulder. "I told you to call me baby. It's nicer this way. You got glasses up here?"

"Yeah, on the right."

Rue brought down two whiskey glasses and poured them full.

"Jesus. Alright, baby. You got my attention. What do you have for me?"

Rue pushed the glass in front of him. "Is that all I'm good for? What ever happened to talking? You know, getting to know a person before you get blown?"

The stranger took a gulp from his glass and she did the same. "Alright, you like music?" asked the stranger. "Never mind. Hold on. Just, sit down over there." He motioned to the orange sofa in the living room. The one with all the ink spills. He disappeared into the dark hallway. A record needle scratched. Crackle. Cue Sleepwalk, Santo & Johnny. "What's good, baby? What's this talk about dying on a Thurs- sorry, Friday night."

"I was only joking, mister. I needed to get the hell out of there. Maxwell was coming to find me. He would have killed me anyways, you know, if he just saw me standing there."

"What the fuck kind of joke is that?!" yelled the stranger, spilling some of his whiskey.

"Hey, calm down, honey. It's not a joke. I really could have died tonight."

"Who the fuck is Maxwell? Your boyfriend?"

Rue stared down at her drink. "No, man. He's my...boss. He's my boss and I was supposed to work tonight, but, fuck it to hell, right?" She took a long, loving swallow. The stranger's eyes followed her silhouette from her tangled hair to the bottom of her pink fishnets. His face softened. "Hey, let's talk about something else, honey. I found you in the phone book. You must be single. No way a woman would let you live like this."

The stranger drank. "No woman. I don't need a woman telling me what to do. Women are trouble."

The record was on repeat. Something about the apartment was comforting to Rue. Suddenly, she pulled out a little bag full of white magic from her purse, along with a razor blade and mirror. Methodically, she placed each item on the coffee table between them as if they were offerings. She hummed quietly to the song that was playing for the third time.

Eight exquisite lines of cocaine begged to be consumed in front of their faces. Rue bent down, bowing to the stranger, and took a long inhale. She looked up at him with big, blue watery eyes. Her nose was powdery and pink. With a $100 clutched in between her teeth, she melted onto the floor and crawled over to him on her hands and knees.

"Blow, baby," said Rue groggily.

The stranger bent down over her and sniffed up a couple of lines. The room begun to buzz. "Jesus, baby. That's some strong-" Her lips fell onto the strangers lap. He took her chin into his hand and stared into her bloodshot eyes. "You're high baby."

"Blow, baby?" said the groggy girl with pouty lips.

The room continued to vibrate as he fucked her mouth. The song played 10 more times.

Sometime between her first orgasm and the sound of the garbage truck's squealing brakes, they fell asleep on the carpeted living room floor.

Gently, Rue began to wake up. The stranger slept peacefully with robe undone. She checked her watch one last time. 7:09. The sun was threatening to rise. She rolled over and gingerly kissed his shoulder blade.

Quietly gathering her shoes and purse, she hit the last couple lines of coke. She took her watch off and set it beside a napkin on the coffee table which read, "I'm so happy I called you. -Rue Dahl"

Out she slipped into the morning frost to meet the flickering No Smoking lights.
#adult  #shortstory  #prosechallenge 
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Written by Tayesha

Paralysis - Short story

''You have to understand that you have to stay here, stop fighting it, Natasha.'' he whispers to me in a soothing yet stern voice. As if I have a choice.

''I gave up the fight a long time ago. I'm just waiting. One day, someday. I will get out.'' I reply with as much adamant as his tone had.

He looks at me with a smug grin on his face as he takes the injection from the tray next to him.

''This should help you.'' Mr. Smugface explains as he injects the drugs in me. I stare at him and all I want to do is grab that needle and slash that pathetic mockery off of his fucking face.

He turns and locks the door on his way out.

I look around this dull, cold room. The curtains look like someone has clawed them. The sheets send chill through my body. The walls cracked. I don't even know how I got here. I lay down, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. I close them and let the drugs consume me. 

I'm awoken by an itchy discomfort in my throat, I try to cough but I can't. I reach in my mouth and find a strand of hair. I pull it and chucks of hair begin coming out of my mouth.. What in gods name is happening to me. I'm screaming but no one is listening to me. Why is no one listening to me...? 

I can hear them behind the door, whispers echoing down the hall. I hear screams coming from the other rooms. I'm trembling, I feel it in my throat. More and more chunks of hair lace out of my mouth. My screams are getting louder and the whispers are still echoing. I slide to the floor and wrap my arms around me. 

''You can make this all go away, ya know?'' That familiar, sweet voice, so persuasive, so tempting. Low cackles linger in the back of my mind. ''You know you want to...''

She continues, persuading me. Like a moth to a flame I want to be sucked in. ''It's just like sleeping, only.. you never have to wake up, Natasha.'' Whispers continue to slither down my spine. 

''Sleep would be nice...'' I consider as my body trembles with delight of the thought.

Interrupting, I  hear the key turn and Mr. Smugface enters. 

''How are we doing here?'' that too mocking grin on his face again. If only I could wipe it off. We both know what happened the last time you tried that. Not a wise idea. I feel sick and my chest is tightening . The irritation is building up in my throat again. As if something is stuck. I pull it out and throw it on the floor, wet, black, long knotted strands of hair.  

'' This, this is how we are doing. What is happening to me? what is this? What is happening to me? please, just let me out!!!!!!!!!!'' My lip trembles as I scream at him, 

''Please....'' I plead.

He stares at me, for once, not that smug smile. His eyebrows are narrowed as he looks at the floor, '' I don't see anything. Natasha, what are you talking about? This is why you are here, we are trying to help you. If you just sat....''

I push his tight grip off me and fly through the door. Running for air as if my life depends on it. ''I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy.'' I tell myself as I run feeling stupid and confused. wrapping the gown around me as I run.

The corridor is dark, dull and damp. A girl  sits rocking in the corner with her arms wrapped around her legs. Mumbling words too quiet to understand or even hear. A slender boy Strolling down the corridor approaches me, he looks directly into my eyes and they're black. His eyes are black. Fear takes over my body and I'm suddenly running, searching for a window. The itch in my throat is back. 

I reach in my mouth and this time it's not easy to pull out. It's plastic. I start pulling it out  as it grazes my throat.  

I want to die, I can't breathe. I can hear her pretty little voice in my mind but I'm in too much of a panic to understand what she is saying. Not hard to guess. I can taste the blood in my mouth. I look up to see them, dressed in white, blood down their uniforms. Why aren't they helping me. Why is no one helping me??? The walls are closing in on me my vision blurring I can no longer run.

Prod! 

I turn to see his arms out ready to catch me as I fall to oblivion. More fucking drugs. My eyelids fall. My screams are only in my mind. No one can hear me but myself. 

The feeling in my throat is still there, I can feel it building up. Whatever it is, it's there. I can't open my eyes, I feel my body wet with sweat. I can hear the ticking of the clock, The whispers in the corridor. I break through the darkness and my eyes fly open. I gasp. Fingers down my throat. Blood is filling up in my mouth and I whine. Please god, make this stop.

''You know what you have to do!'' giggles flood my mind. 

''Shut up, shut up, go away. Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!'' I slur my words as blood drips from my mouth. 

I fall to the floor from my bed, it's so dark the only slight light I see is creeping in from under the door. I crawl to it scream as loud as I can but the door is unlocked, it's never unlocked. Excitement is pulsing through my veins and I can't get up quick enough. I stand almost tripping up and make my way out to the corridor. 

Deserted. 

I try the handle of the door at the end of the corridor. It's open... I enter to find a familiar looking figure sitting on a chair, candle light flickering off her face. 

''Mother, is that you?'' I sound lifeless as I approach her, I set myself down by her feet embracing the warmth coming off her as I inhale that memorable sweet scent I know all too well. 

''It's about time you found me, darling.''

The beginning of a short story. I would love and appreciate opinions and criticism if needed. Thank you! 

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Written by Tayesha
Paralysis - Short story
''You have to understand that you have to stay here, stop fighting it, Natasha.'' he whispers to me in a soothing yet stern voice. As if I have a choice.
''I gave up the fight a long time ago. I'm just waiting. One day, someday. I will get out.'' I reply with as much adamant as his tone had.
He looks at me with a smug grin on his face as he takes the injection from the tray next to him.
''This should help you.'' Mr. Smugface explains as he injects the drugs in me. I stare at him and all I want to do is grab that needle and slash that pathetic mockery off of his fucking face.
He turns and locks the door on his way out.

I look around this dull, cold room. The curtains look like someone has clawed them. The sheets send chill through my body. The walls cracked. I don't even know how I got here. I lay down, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. I close them and let the drugs consume me. 

I'm awoken by an itchy discomfort in my throat, I try to cough but I can't. I reach in my mouth and find a strand of hair. I pull it and chucks of hair begin coming out of my mouth.. What in gods name is happening to me. I'm screaming but no one is listening to me. Why is no one listening to me...? 

I can hear them behind the door, whispers echoing down the hall. I hear screams coming from the other rooms. I'm trembling, I feel it in my throat. More and more chunks of hair lace out of my mouth. My screams are getting louder and the whispers are still echoing. I slide to the floor and wrap my arms around me. 
''You can make this all go away, ya know?'' That familiar, sweet voice, so persuasive, so tempting. Low cackles linger in the back of my mind. ''You know you want to...''
She continues, persuading me. Like a moth to a flame I want to be sucked in. ''It's just like sleeping, only.. you never have to wake up, Natasha.'' Whispers continue to slither down my spine. 
''Sleep would be nice...'' I consider as my body trembles with delight of the thought.
Interrupting, I  hear the key turn and Mr. Smugface enters. 

''How are we doing here?'' that too mocking grin on his face again. If only I could wipe it off. We both know what happened the last time you tried that. Not a wise idea. I feel sick and my chest is tightening . The irritation is building up in my throat again. As if something is stuck. I pull it out and throw it on the floor, wet, black, long knotted strands of hair.  
'' This, this is how we are doing. What is happening to me? what is this? What is happening to me? please, just let me out!!!!!!!!!!'' My lip trembles as I scream at him, 
''Please....'' I plead.
He stares at me, for once, not that smug smile. His eyebrows are narrowed as he looks at the floor, '' I don't see anything. Natasha, what are you talking about? This is why you are here, we are trying to help you. If you just sat....''
I push his tight grip off me and fly through the door. Running for air as if my life depends on it. ''I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy.'' I tell myself as I run feeling stupid and confused. wrapping the gown around me as I run.
The corridor is dark, dull and damp. A girl  sits rocking in the corner with her arms wrapped around her legs. Mumbling words too quiet to understand or even hear. A slender boy Strolling down the corridor approaches me, he looks directly into my eyes and they're black. His eyes are black. Fear takes over my body and I'm suddenly running, searching for a window. The itch in my throat is back. 
I reach in my mouth and this time it's not easy to pull out. It's plastic. I start pulling it out  as it grazes my throat.  
I want to die, I can't breathe. I can hear her pretty little voice in my mind but I'm in too much of a panic to understand what she is saying. Not hard to guess. I can taste the blood in my mouth. I look up to see them, dressed in white, blood down their uniforms. Why aren't they helping me. Why is no one helping me??? The walls are closing in on me my vision blurring I can no longer run.
Prod! 
I turn to see his arms out ready to catch me as I fall to oblivion. More fucking drugs. My eyelids fall. My screams are only in my mind. No one can hear me but myself. 

The feeling in my throat is still there, I can feel it building up. Whatever it is, it's there. I can't open my eyes, I feel my body wet with sweat. I can hear the ticking of the clock, The whispers in the corridor. I break through the darkness and my eyes fly open. I gasp. Fingers down my throat. Blood is filling up in my mouth and I whine. Please god, make this stop.
''You know what you have to do!'' giggles flood my mind. 
''Shut up, shut up, go away. Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!'' I slur my words as blood drips from my mouth. 

I fall to the floor from my bed, it's so dark the only slight light I see is creeping in from under the door. I crawl to it scream as loud as I can but the door is unlocked, it's never unlocked. Excitement is pulsing through my veins and I can't get up quick enough. I stand almost tripping up and make my way out to the corridor. 
Deserted. 
I try the handle of the door at the end of the corridor. It's open... I enter to find a familiar looking figure sitting on a chair, candle light flickering off her face. 
''Mother, is that you?'' I sound lifeless as I approach her, I set myself down by her feet embracing the warmth coming off her as I inhale that memorable sweet scent I know all too well. 
''It's about time you found me, darling.''




The beginning of a short story. I would love and appreciate opinions and criticism if needed. Thank you! 
#horror  #mystery  #shortstory  #dream  #mentalhealth 
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Written by Kp

The Boy in the Union-Jack trainers

Part 2: If Only...

The sun shone behind his closed eyelids. Yet the beams of light did not highlight his golden curls, nor did it illuminate his high cheekbones or his curved jaw. He struggled to open his eyes. A battle between the promise of endlesssleep and waking up to the chaos around him. Curiosity got the better of him.

As his eyelids finally flutter open his gaze was met by such a strong burst of light, that his strained eyes were made to squint. He had to blink several times before they focused, morphing the blurred obscure shapes, sharpening his vision.

Toby was lying horizontal, the long grass tickling his neck. His clothes were damp from the dew the grass carried - but otherwise his clothes were fairly dry. It had stopped raining and it was surprisingly pleasant, no clouds cluttered up the sky. He could hear the steady beat of the waves against the chalk. It was just a dream. But it had felt so real.

"Toby? Toby where are you?" It was his mother's high pitched cry that brought him back to the present.

"I'm coming Mum." He yelled as he raced down the crumbling cliff path, back the way he had come, stumbling a little as he went. Mum was standing in the cottage's doorway, her hair falling loosely down her back, her dressing gown wrapped around her. Toby ran to her. "Mum I'm alright." But his Mum didn't even look at him, instead her eyes were fixed behind him, scanning the cliff path.

"Toby? Toby!" It was as if his Mum could see right through him.

"Mum I- I don't understand. Mum can't you see me? I'm right here!"

Mrs Knight shuffled out of the door in her bright pink fluffy slippers and pushed past her son. To Toby's astonishment she began to run away up the cliff.

"Mum!" Toby screamed carelessly after her. "MUM!" There was no reply.

He didn't understand. What on earth was going on? Had his Mother gone mad? Or was he still dreaming.

He pinched his skin between two of his quivering fingers. Nothing... "Come on..." He muttered under his breathe. "Wake up Toby, Wake Up!" He wasn't dreaming, this was all very real.

"Toby! Toby!" There was a bloodcurdling scream that cut through the air like a knife. A Screech like car wheels spinning out of asphalt.

"Mum... MUM!"

Toby leaped over the brambles letting them rip his trousers, he didn't care. He urged his legs to go faster. "Mum where are you?" All he could hear was the unsteady beat of his heart against the drumming of his feet. He reached Dad's bench. Mum was nowhere in sight.

"Mum?" Toby could not hide the fear in his voice. Maybe she'd gone to the beach. But why on Earth would she go there?

The beach was tiny, barely six metres of sand, Mum always warned him not to go down there as it was dangerous how fast the tide came in.

He ran on down the cliff, he was getting closer, he could now hear his Mum's heavy sobs. Finally his feet sunk into the sand making it erupt around him. And there she was, she had fallen to the ground. Her whole body was trembling, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"Mum what is it? What's wrong?" He stepped closer trying to comfort her, that's when he noticed the pair of legs sticking out from behind his Mother's rigid form. A sodden, ripped material clung to the pale, lifeless legs. the trainers were ruined, yet you could still see the pattern on the side of the shoe, a union-jack. No... It couldn't be.

He edged around her he didn't want to look too scared at what he knew he would see. Knowing didn't prepare him for what he saw next. Nothing could have.

His limp body was cradled in her arms, tears rolled down her cheeks, as rapid as waterfalls, the drops fell off her chin before splashing on the innocent, young face below. His face was stiff his mouth hung open, his lips cracked, his almond eyes were wide open, glazed over, staring up at the heavens. His greasy hair clung to his dead face.

His Mum rocked him backwards and forwards, clutching him to her tightly, Forever repeating that word over and over. "Toby... Toby..."

"I'm so sorry Mum. I'm so sorry." Toby sank to his knees.

What was the use in speaking? He knew she couldn't hear him. He was dead after all. If only his Dad hasn't left. If only he hadn't left the house. If only...

___________________________________

Hello, :) <--- I thought I'd try add some happiness to this story...

That's all you're going to get!

I'd love to here any comments/suggestions you guys have.

- KP

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Juice
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Donate coins to Kp.
Juice
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Written by Kp
The Boy in the Union-Jack trainers
Part 2: If Only...
The sun shone behind his closed eyelids. Yet the beams of light did not highlight his golden curls, nor did it illuminate his high cheekbones or his curved jaw. He struggled to open his eyes. A battle between the promise of endlesssleep and waking up to the chaos around him. Curiosity got the better of him.

As his eyelids finally flutter open his gaze was met by such a strong burst of light, that his strained eyes were made to squint. He had to blink several times before they focused, morphing the blurred obscure shapes, sharpening his vision.

Toby was lying horizontal, the long grass tickling his neck. His clothes were damp from the dew the grass carried - but otherwise his clothes were fairly dry. It had stopped raining and it was surprisingly pleasant, no clouds cluttered up the sky. He could hear the steady beat of the waves against the chalk. It was just a dream. But it had felt so real.

"Toby? Toby where are you?" It was his mother's high pitched cry that brought him back to the present.
"I'm coming Mum." He yelled as he raced down the crumbling cliff path, back the way he had come, stumbling a little as he went. Mum was standing in the cottage's doorway, her hair falling loosely down her back, her dressing gown wrapped around her. Toby ran to her. "Mum I'm alright." But his Mum didn't even look at him, instead her eyes were fixed behind him, scanning the cliff path.
"Toby? Toby!" It was as if his Mum could see right through him.
"Mum I- I don't understand. Mum can't you see me? I'm right here!"

Mrs Knight shuffled out of the door in her bright pink fluffy slippers and pushed past her son. To Toby's astonishment she began to run away up the cliff.
"Mum!" Toby screamed carelessly after her. "MUM!" There was no reply.

He didn't understand. What on earth was going on? Had his Mother gone mad? Or was he still dreaming.

He pinched his skin between two of his quivering fingers. Nothing... "Come on..." He muttered under his breathe. "Wake up Toby, Wake Up!" He wasn't dreaming, this was all very real.
"Toby! Toby!" There was a bloodcurdling scream that cut through the air like a knife. A Screech like car wheels spinning out of asphalt.
"Mum... MUM!"

Toby leaped over the brambles letting them rip his trousers, he didn't care. He urged his legs to go faster. "Mum where are you?" All he could hear was the unsteady beat of his heart against the drumming of his feet. He reached Dad's bench. Mum was nowhere in sight.
"Mum?" Toby could not hide the fear in his voice. Maybe she'd gone to the beach. But why on Earth would she go there?

The beach was tiny, barely six metres of sand, Mum always warned him not to go down there as it was dangerous how fast the tide came in.

He ran on down the cliff, he was getting closer, he could now hear his Mum's heavy sobs. Finally his feet sunk into the sand making it erupt around him. And there she was, she had fallen to the ground. Her whole body was trembling, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"Mum what is it? What's wrong?" He stepped closer trying to comfort her, that's when he noticed the pair of legs sticking out from behind his Mother's rigid form. A sodden, ripped material clung to the pale, lifeless legs. the trainers were ruined, yet you could still see the pattern on the side of the shoe, a union-jack. No... It couldn't be.

He edged around her he didn't want to look too scared at what he knew he would see. Knowing didn't prepare him for what he saw next. Nothing could have.

His limp body was cradled in her arms, tears rolled down her cheeks, as rapid as waterfalls, the drops fell off her chin before splashing on the innocent, young face below. His face was stiff his mouth hung open, his lips cracked, his almond eyes were wide open, glazed over, staring up at the heavens. His greasy hair clung to his dead face.

His Mum rocked him backwards and forwards, clutching him to her tightly, Forever repeating that word over and over. "Toby... Toby..."
"I'm so sorry Mum. I'm so sorry." Toby sank to his knees.

What was the use in speaking? He knew she couldn't hear him. He was dead after all. If only his Dad hasn't left. If only he hadn't left the house. If only...


___________________________________

Hello, :) <--- I thought I'd try add some happiness to this story...
That's all you're going to get!

I'd love to here any comments/suggestions you guys have.

- KP
#fiction  #shortstory  #death  #sea  #boy  #part2  #seagulls  #coast  #omens 
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Juice
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