voxlatina
A quiet muse
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Write a horror story in 100 words or less. Evoke fear in as few words as possible.
Written by voxlatina in portal Horror & Thriller

Plans

I'll begin with flowers, because that's how it always goes. When she accepts my invitation to dinner, we'll go somewhere fancy, and I'll order their most expensive wine. She'll talk about herself all evening, between the courses and the bottle, and I'll listen. Well, only halfway, because I'll be thinking about the fun things that we'll do once we get back to my place.

Fun things. Some of them soft, some of them sharp, all of them stained with the presence of others and primed to hurt. I only hope that she'll enjoy herself as much as I will.

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Write a horror story in 100 words or less. Evoke fear in as few words as possible.
Written by voxlatina in portal Horror & Thriller
Plans
I'll begin with flowers, because that's how it always goes. When she accepts my invitation to dinner, we'll go somewhere fancy, and I'll order their most expensive wine. She'll talk about herself all evening, between the courses and the bottle, and I'll listen. Well, only halfway, because I'll be thinking about the fun things that we'll do once we get back to my place.

Fun things. Some of them soft, some of them sharp, all of them stained with the presence of others and primed to hurt. I only hope that she'll enjoy herself as much as I will.
3
1
2
Juice
20 reads
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If you could send a message to someone who had died, what would you say?
Written by voxlatina in portal Stream of Consciousness

What's it like on the other side, if there is one? Are you happy there?

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If you could send a message to someone who had died, what would you say?
Written by voxlatina in portal Stream of Consciousness
What's it like on the other side, if there is one? Are you happy there?
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In 15 words, describe your favorite video game (or board game for the older Prosers) without revealing what it is. See if anyone can guess it in the comments.
Written by voxlatina in portal Gaming

A widower parks his car on the outskirts of town and goes searching for someone.

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In 15 words, describe your favorite video game (or board game for the older Prosers) without revealing what it is. See if anyone can guess it in the comments.
Written by voxlatina in portal Gaming
A widower parks his car on the outskirts of town and goes searching for someone.
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The first line of almost any story can be improved by making sure the second line is, "And then the murders began." Give it a try!
Written by voxlatina

Where A Kid Can Be A Kid

Wade clutched the roll of tickets in his fist and fought back a scream. He was too late. Someone else had won the neon hairpiece. 

And then the murders began.

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The first line of almost any story can be improved by making sure the second line is, "And then the murders began." Give it a try!
Written by voxlatina
Where A Kid Can Be A Kid
Wade clutched the roll of tickets in his fist and fought back a scream. He was too late. Someone else had won the neon hairpiece. 
And then the murders began.

4
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1
Juice
14 reads
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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 voxlatina

Id

Some days I feel as though my body wants to vomit me up. No, perhaps it's more accurate to say that it's already trying. I can feel it pressing in, squeezing, trying to force whatever essence of "me" is left in this wasted shell.

It has devious ways of making its feelings known. It's that light touch on the wheel as I drive to work in the morning, reminding me that with a slight movement of my hand, I could pull into the oncoming lane and be obliterated in a moment. It's the weight of the knife in my hand as I prepare dinner. The shadow that crosses my gaze every time I'm alone with my thoughts. I sometimes wonder if it isn't collaborating with someone to plan my undoing; the smallest hint of movement in a crowd makes me feel as though a stranger is waiting for me to let down my guard.

I try to placate it with kindness. I attend yoga lessons, run, lift weights. I watch my weight and what I eat, carefully measuring each portion. I leave plenty of time each day to reflect and unwind. All of these things quiet its anger for perhaps an hour or so, and then it just screams. Even when I cover my ears, I can still hear it inside my head for days afterward. 

Then the dreams come, as they always do. I wake up in the morning and I'm outside of it, forced out of my own skin. I'm looking down at my body, only it's something else now, a mound of festering skin and muscle slipping free of the bones. I realize that what it really desires is this collapse into nothingness, and I'm the last barrier in its way. 

The last thing I always hear, just before my mind stirs from sleep, is its joyful laughter.

It sounds just like 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 voxlatina
Id
Some days I feel as though my body wants to vomit me up. No, perhaps it's more accurate to say that it's already trying. I can feel it pressing in, squeezing, trying to force whatever essence of "me" is left in this wasted shell.

It has devious ways of making its feelings known. It's that light touch on the wheel as I drive to work in the morning, reminding me that with a slight movement of my hand, I could pull into the oncoming lane and be obliterated in a moment. It's the weight of the knife in my hand as I prepare dinner. The shadow that crosses my gaze every time I'm alone with my thoughts. I sometimes wonder if it isn't collaborating with someone to plan my undoing; the smallest hint of movement in a crowd makes me feel as though a stranger is waiting for me to let down my guard.

I try to placate it with kindness. I attend yoga lessons, run, lift weights. I watch my weight and what I eat, carefully measuring each portion. I leave plenty of time each day to reflect and unwind. All of these things quiet its anger for perhaps an hour or so, and then it just screams. Even when I cover my ears, I can still hear it inside my head for days afterward. 

Then the dreams come, as they always do. I wake up in the morning and I'm outside of it, forced out of my own skin. I'm looking down at my body, only it's something else now, a mound of festering skin and muscle slipping free of the bones. I realize that what it really desires is this collapse into nothingness, and I'm the last barrier in its way. 

The last thing I always hear, just before my mind stirs from sleep, is its joyful laughter.

It sounds just like me.




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"I was young and stupid." Fiction or fact, no one would know. Write in any genre. 5-50 words only!
Written by voxlatina

Down Below

I was ten when I found it, and I wish that I never had. I still remember how I spent the afternoon in the woods, struggling with the old wood cover of that well. How I pried it off at last, and saw her body moldering down there. My mother.

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"I was young and stupid." Fiction or fact, no one would know. Write in any genre. 5-50 words only!
Written by voxlatina
Down Below
I was ten when I found it, and I wish that I never had. I still remember how I spent the afternoon in the woods, struggling with the old wood cover of that well. How I pried it off at last, and saw her body moldering down there. My mother.
1
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Juice
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Describe a flower garden, but do not use any color adjectives (i.e., don't use descriptive words like red, yellow, green). Ideas: Tell me how your body senses the garden? How does red feel? What is yellow? Imagine how it would feel to step into a flower garden without eyesight, then explain it to me. Get visceral...describe the scene either directly or indirectly. Be creative. :) Or go totally metaphorical with it. Think outside the box. Oh, and make it a micro-poem, too. Have fun!
Written by voxlatina in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Sight and Scent

The scent is everywhere,

So heavy that I can almost feel it.

This aroma that reminds me of my mother,

That must be lilac -- that was always her favorite.

This one must be a rose of some kind,

Because its musk is like my husband,

Lingering near my shoulder.

3
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Juice
12 reads
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Describe a flower garden, but do not use any color adjectives (i.e., don't use descriptive words like red, yellow, green). Ideas: Tell me how your body senses the garden? How does red feel? What is yellow? Imagine how it would feel to step into a flower garden without eyesight, then explain it to me. Get visceral...describe the scene either directly or indirectly. Be creative. :) Or go totally metaphorical with it. Think outside the box. Oh, and make it a micro-poem, too. Have fun!
Written by voxlatina in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Sight and Scent
The scent is everywhere,
So heavy that I can almost feel it.
This aroma that reminds me of my mother,
That must be lilac -- that was always her favorite.
This one must be a rose of some kind,
Because its musk is like my husband,
Lingering near my shoulder.

3
0
0
Juice
12 reads
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A Tiny Window. Write about it. 15-200 words only. In short, I challenge you to write a vignette about a vignette.
Written by voxlatina

The Window in the Floor

Evie noticed it on her way to the laundry room. In the middle of the peeling linoleum, there was a little window set into the floor. At first, she thought that it was a bit of plastic or a part to one of the children's toys. but when she bent to pick it up, her fingers brushed against glass. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pry it from the floor.

Whoever had placed it there had done a masterful job. There were no seams, caulk lines, or any signs of nails or screws. This tiny carpenter had even added the creative flourish of little shutters, painted bright red. She peered into the little square, and was surprised to see an entire room on its side--the living room, judging by the miniature sofa and chairs that seemed to have been crafted from toothpicks. 

When she lifted her head, she found her daughter Nina standing in front of her. Nina pointed to the window, her smile bright.

"Nina wanna play! Tell friend come out!"

As if responding to the sound of her daughter's voice, a light flickered to life behind the glass. 

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A Tiny Window. Write about it. 15-200 words only. In short, I challenge you to write a vignette about a vignette.
Written by voxlatina
The Window in the Floor
Evie noticed it on her way to the laundry room. In the middle of the peeling linoleum, there was a little window set into the floor. At first, she thought that it was a bit of plastic or a part to one of the children's toys. but when she bent to pick it up, her fingers brushed against glass. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pry it from the floor.

Whoever had placed it there had done a masterful job. There were no seams, caulk lines, or any signs of nails or screws. This tiny carpenter had even added the creative flourish of little shutters, painted bright red. She peered into the little square, and was surprised to see an entire room on its side--the living room, judging by the miniature sofa and chairs that seemed to have been crafted from toothpicks. 

When she lifted her head, she found her daughter Nina standing in front of her. Nina pointed to the window, her smile bright.

"Nina wanna play! Tell friend come out!"

As if responding to the sound of her daughter's voice, a light flickered to life behind the glass. 



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Juice
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"I should come with a warning sign." Show us what's written on it! 2-20 words only!
Written by voxlatina in portal Micropoetry

Warning:

May implode when spoken to.

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"I should come with a warning sign." Show us what's written on it! 2-20 words only!
Written by voxlatina in portal Micropoetry
Warning:
May implode when spoken to.
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What is your pen name and why? @CreativeChaos and I were discussing our reasons and i figured why not ask everybody! What makes you your name or your name you? Tag me if you would like a read ^-^
Written by voxlatina in portal Nonfiction

My pen name means "Latin voice" when translated into English. I chose it because I majored in Classics with an emphasis in Latin when I was in college! Sadly, I am now so rusty that any sentence that I could cobble together would qualify as illatinismus ("bad Latin writing").

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What is your pen name and why? @CreativeChaos and I were discussing our reasons and i figured why not ask everybody! What makes you your name or your name you? Tag me if you would like a read ^-^
Written by voxlatina in portal Nonfiction
My pen name means "Latin voice" when translated into English. I chose it because I majored in Classics with an emphasis in Latin when I was in college! Sadly, I am now so rusty that any sentence that I could cobble together would qualify as illatinismus ("bad Latin writing").
1
0
0
Juice
14 reads
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