voxlatina
A quiet muse
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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.
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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.

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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.

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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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"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").
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Another 10 word micropoem challenge: write a poem that begins with the word TAIL and ends with the word TALE. Or the other way around! Tag me, if you wish! #ATailTale
Written by voxlatina in portal Micropoetry

Tail of the dragon

Snaking out

Of her favorite tale.

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Another 10 word micropoem challenge: write a poem that begins with the word TAIL and ends with the word TALE. Or the other way around! Tag me, if you wish! #ATailTale
Written by voxlatina in portal Micropoetry
Tail of the dragon
Snaking out
Of her favorite tale.

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I have been feeling so very dull and uninspired lately, I challenge you to write a prompt for me to do. Be sure to tag me! I will try to complete as many as I can.
Written by voxlatina

She felt a presence behind her, following in her footsteps. When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with her doppelganger.

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I have been feeling so very dull and uninspired lately, I challenge you to write a prompt for me to do. Be sure to tag me! I will try to complete as many as I can.
Written by voxlatina
She felt a presence behind her, following in her footsteps. When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with her doppelganger.
#TheSword 
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by voxlatina in portal Publishing

In the Cards

"Come, tell me! What do the cards say?"

The young woman leaned over the table, brimming with excitement. Isaca Tremaine glanced at her only briefly before returning her gaze to the cards laid out before her. She knew what the woman was expecting from the reading -- a pleasant outcome for herself and her lover, despite their strife. Clients didn't come to her to hear what the cards inevitably told her; thanks to that, she had become adept at slanting the truth.

"The Four of Cups," she said, running her fingers across the card, "means that you are discontent with your present conditions. This card, combined with the Three of Swords, means that you are confused about this. What the reversed Five of Pentacles tells me is that, should you continue as you are, you will suffer in love." 

The concern in the woman's eyes forced her to add, hesitantly, "Temporarily. You stated that you and your lover argue often, is that correct? There will be more arguments, and he may choose to see the lads at the tavern more often...but that will be all. The cards do not foretell the end of your relationship." 

"Oh, that is truly wonderful! Thank you, Miss Tremaine. I am so happy that I came to see you today!" The woman slid three coins across the table to Isaca, who barely looked at them as she slipped them into the velvet pouch in her lap. "I shall tell all of my friends about your readings!"

"I would be grateful if you did," Isaca replied, and tried her best to smile. What she should have told her client was that the cards showed an inevitable and unavoidable dissolution of her relationship, and a great deal of sorrow to follow, but then where would her little business be? Still, it hurt her to imagine the poor girl flocking to her friends, exclaiming over how lovely it would be when she and her beau were married at last.

As she returned the cards to the deck, one of them slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. When she leaned down to retrieve it, she noticed that it was the King of Swords, and it had fallen in reverse. The sign of the manipulator and the liar, her one true reading of the day.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by voxlatina in portal Publishing
In the Cards
"Come, tell me! What do the cards say?"

The young woman leaned over the table, brimming with excitement. Isaca Tremaine glanced at her only briefly before returning her gaze to the cards laid out before her. She knew what the woman was expecting from the reading -- a pleasant outcome for herself and her lover, despite their strife. Clients didn't come to her to hear what the cards inevitably told her; thanks to that, she had become adept at slanting the truth.

"The Four of Cups," she said, running her fingers across the card, "means that you are discontent with your present conditions. This card, combined with the Three of Swords, means that you are confused about this. What the reversed Five of Pentacles tells me is that, should you continue as you are, you will suffer in love." 

The concern in the woman's eyes forced her to add, hesitantly, "Temporarily. You stated that you and your lover argue often, is that correct? There will be more arguments, and he may choose to see the lads at the tavern more often...but that will be all. The cards do not foretell the end of your relationship." 

"Oh, that is truly wonderful! Thank you, Miss Tremaine. I am so happy that I came to see you today!" The woman slid three coins across the table to Isaca, who barely looked at them as she slipped them into the velvet pouch in her lap. "I shall tell all of my friends about your readings!"

"I would be grateful if you did," Isaca replied, and tried her best to smile. What she should have told her client was that the cards showed an inevitable and unavoidable dissolution of her relationship, and a great deal of sorrow to follow, but then where would her little business be? Still, it hurt her to imagine the poor girl flocking to her friends, exclaiming over how lovely it would be when she and her beau were married at last.

As she returned the cards to the deck, one of them slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. When she leaned down to retrieve it, she noticed that it was the King of Swords, and it had fallen in reverse. The sign of the manipulator and the liar, her one true reading of the day.

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Written by voxlatina

"Where are you going at this hour, conjurer? Could it be that you've finally tired of shirking your duties?"

It had been some time since Nathaniel had heard such irritation in Marbas' voice.

"Your words are as kind as ever, I see." He pulled his greatcoat tight around him as the familiar chill of the creature's presence began to seep into the room. "In fact, I was just about to pay a visit to our dear Frayne. He has been a rather busy man as of late, you know." 

"With what? The man does nothing but choke on his own blood and air his sorrows," Marbas replied, drawing the words out into a throaty growl. "He squanders his power, and you allow him to do it. We had a pact, you and I. You promised that you could use him to bring me others."

"And I shall, once I've had a little more time," Nathaniel said, and bent to gather his boots. "I fear that your little gift may have been...overwhelming. Frayne simply needs to adjust to it, and then--"

"He will use it, or he will perish."

Nathaniel started a bit at that; this time, not only had he heard the demon's voice, but felt it as well, somewhere at the base of his skull.

"He's well aware of that, Marbas! He just needs some convincing."

A low growl emanated from behind him. He knew what that sound meant, and what he would see if he did; having witnessed Marbas' fearful transformation once before, he had no desire to do so again.

"Then do it quickly, before I lose my patience with both of you." Marbas was moving away from him now; Nathaniel could hear the heavy thud of his footsteps, like the paws of a great beast padding across the floor. Something about that sound made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with fear.

"As you say."

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Written by voxlatina
"Where are you going at this hour, conjurer? Could it be that you've finally tired of shirking your duties?"

It had been some time since Nathaniel had heard such irritation in Marbas' voice.

"Your words are as kind as ever, I see." He pulled his greatcoat tight around him as the familiar chill of the creature's presence began to seep into the room. "In fact, I was just about to pay a visit to our dear Frayne. He has been a rather busy man as of late, you know." 

"With what? The man does nothing but choke on his own blood and air his sorrows," Marbas replied, drawing the words out into a throaty growl. "He squanders his power, and you allow him to do it. We had a pact, you and I. You promised that you could use him to bring me others."

"And I shall, once I've had a little more time," Nathaniel said, and bent to gather his boots. "I fear that your little gift may have been...overwhelming. Frayne simply needs to adjust to it, and then--"

"He will use it, or he will perish."

Nathaniel started a bit at that; this time, not only had he heard the demon's voice, but felt it as well, somewhere at the base of his skull.

"He's well aware of that, Marbas! He just needs some convincing."

A low growl emanated from behind him. He knew what that sound meant, and what he would see if he did; having witnessed Marbas' fearful transformation once before, he had no desire to do so again.

"Then do it quickly, before I lose my patience with both of you." Marbas was moving away from him now; Nathaniel could hear the heavy thud of his footsteps, like the paws of a great beast padding across the floor. Something about that sound made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with fear.

"As you say."
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