Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
Passersby ignored the frail, shivering thing, their eyes never dropping, their heads never turning. She might have been a doll in a window, or something someone left behind. She wasn't any of their business.
A little round boy with a little round face in his little grey jacket wrapped around his little round belly poked at the girl with his little round foot.
The girl, who wasn't much older than he, looked up from the protective valley of her arms and smiled at him. The little...
Sarah was really thirsty.
So, she picked up the bottle of Vodka and took a huge swig. She's done this repeatedly throught the course of the day.
Yep. Still thirsty.
Maybe not sober...but then again, this isn't the point.
"Sarah?" she heard someone call her. Her name continued to be repeated throught her apartment. Of course, no one would think she would be where she is. If she's lucky, whoever is looking for her would continue their search elsewhere.
And by elsewhere, she meant anywhere but here.
The door opened, and light stabbed her eyes causing Sarah to groan.
"Sarah!"...
Write as you please,
In six minutes,
Like a breeze.
I fear that,
Without a prompt,
The words won't flow,
Compet-
ently.
So I'll leave you this poem,
With it's oddities and misrhymes,
Mismatched verse and rhythms,
Lines that run out of time.
Words that make no sense,
Lines that are too dense,
And of course you must remember,
In this chilly month of September,
That poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
"Tell me what you did. Tell me what you did yesterday."
She was at the bottom of the stairs in her own house. She was alone, but she knew she wasn't. The lights were off and it was dark.
"I was home. There was nobody there, except him."
She put her foot on the first step, and slowly pulled herself up. When she reached the second floor, she put her hand on the railing to steady herself.
"I felt like I was going to pass out. It was because of him."
She walked into her bedroom, looking nonchalant though there...
I know, I know, there's a million things I need to do. Every day, a million things. Check this, talk to him, to her. Don't forget to fill this out. Drive there, don't forget. Get it right the first time so you don't lose more time doing it twice. Or worse.
Only at the end of the day, is it legal to relax. Only when the world is on half-time, lunch break, dinner break, time out, penalty box.
The sun is one big green light for everyone. You can't stop when the world is go.
If I didn't want to...
She flipped the switch as she came through the door, but nothing happened.
"Damn" she sighed and set down the grocery bags. Walking carefully through the room she tried the lamp by the couch, still nothing. "ugh" She was really getting a little scared now. She continued into the kitchen, trying all the switches there was, but no light came on. She was headed for the back door and the flash light that was kept there when suddenly all the lights in the house went on.
"Surprise!" She screamed and laughed and cried at the same time.
"oh, God, you...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. That was really the least of his problems. It meant the electricity had finally been turned off. So had the water, the cable, and the gas. At least they had waited until the spring. It was warm enough to not risk freezing that night.
Jacob wondered through his house, filled with useless possessions. He touched the television and the fridge as he walked by them, exiting the house and into the beautiful April morning.
The birds were chirping and a steady drone of cars racing down the highway filled his ears. He took a deep...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. This was no surprise considering the power was out all over the city; still, Harold tried anyway, just out of habit. Upon defeat, he turned around and headed down the hall to the kitchen, where the Drawer of Random Stuff resided.
He reached in and grabbed the flashlight, but knew this was futile since buying batteries for it was something on his perpetually procrastinated to-do list, so he did what countless others do when they grab a flashlight that is more than likely dead--he flicked the switch and shook the electric torch furiously, just hoping...
Public Service Announcement (this has no relation to the prompt): When Hemingway (I think, but it doesn't really matter) said, "Write what you know," it was a critique of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who had said, "Write what you don't know." In other words, it would be like me saying, "You are therefore you think." It may or may not be true, but it was a critique of an idea that had been set in stone and codified. Codifying that idea, in turn, defeats the purpose.
To be more succinct, When I hear, "Write what you know," I reach for my...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. He thought it might be the bulb, so he unscrewed it and got a sixty volt shock that made his whole body shake until he dropped the lamp. He wouldn't do that again.