Other stories for this prompt

Her mind was wrapped around the character sitting next to her. He reeked of sex and alcohol she was told at a young age don't judge a book by it's cover but this books words jumped out at her! She could not see his face his hood his him well. The things he must have just encountered plagued her mind. The smell burned her nostrils it mustered up some nostalgia from her adolescence. Her father had been caught cheating in the shed with miss Andrews. she never told her mother of the encounter. Her mother went to her grave never...

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The old lady was in real trouble now. She did not feel the grey touch of the dark hand as it stroked her wrinkled face, marking her. It would come for her soon, the looming shadow of time, and there was nothing she could do but grow older and weaker. She sat in the back of a black car, and her destination was the foundations of the departed. Accompanying her was her sister, wearing the same black dress. Everything was the colour black today. It was the symbolic colour; the colour of the dark one. The lead weight of a...

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A tattoo of a shadow remains when the light recedes.

Mock the sun, then, and ridicule the clouds. They've always seemed so stupid anyway.

Clouds. The poets can have them. They can have the clouds and the sun. Where are their clouds on a sunny day? And where's their sun on this overcast morning?

That's my shadow. I always have it. I don't need the weather -- just the steady hand of a artist.

Tattooed, herself.

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No one else stood up when the two elderly ladies got on the bus, so Bear had to provide the example and offered them his seat. He stood up as they approached and made the giving up my seat gesture with his arm. The one lady smiled and him. He watched the smile curdle into an expression of confusion and followed her sightline to see some teenager had taken his seat.

"Hey," Bear said, trying to sound tough and imposing. "You think I stood up for you? I was letting these ladies have those seats."

The teenager ignored him, scrolled...

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I desire no pity, and I deserve no pity. This is my own personal Mark of Cain, and it is one I have brought to myself. There is always a price to such things, to knowledge and desire. His dark hand covers my face, and one day this mark will come to be paid. In the meantime, I am not without benefit. And I am not without resource.

I can seek out answer in library and archive. I may find none, and I would still have no regret when the great darkness at the very edge of human vision comes...

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The trip was turning into a disaster: we got lost at every turn, the food made us barf, the sites were disappointingly normal and the boisterous flow of life that had seemed so appealing when we first started teasing out the details of what a mutually enjoyable vacation would look like, all of a sudden reminded us of the very place we were trying to escape.

Today's excursion hit the last patience nerve left.

"I have to leave this place. I want my life back", I thought to myself on the bus ride back to the hell hole that sounded...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
January 09, 2012


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