daydreamers

you're one of those people who come and contribute and corrode, all well-meaning and good intentions. 

to whom it may concern

the easiest by far

diamonds

are a girl's best friend.

so what are you still doing here?

drifters

you gone
is too cold
to imagine

This has nothing to do with actual prompt but oh well. 

That's Okay.

Why can't we be those people. People who turn into magnets. I want your polarity.

Again, I wrote this last night but wasn't able to post it. 

Recess.

Spiraling, spiraling, spiraling. Oh, there's the end. There we go.

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was sent to bed before the internet could cooperate with me. Here we are, though. I made this last night, promise. 

i refuse because

everyone loves you, 
you slut 

day 21: sunset

Of Darkness

You have absolutely no idea how exhausted I am. Completely rid of all will to write or y'know, live and function in general, due to crying about Les Mis and being sick (thank you to all my blockmates who accidentally gave me the flu -- now we suffer as one). So this is going to be horrid. 

Swim.

Yellow and orange and palm trees and midnight.

Appearances

I remember you in so many different ways. I could never write them down. 
So I'll send them to you in pieces.

I Never Forgot

I missed my halfway mark because I was busy studying for a math test (I will surely fail). No regrets about the whole studying thing, but I hate counting techniques with a ferocity now. So there's that. 

I am hoping, like fervently fervently hoping and praying, that the people who read this know that it's meant to be fiction. It's meant to be. 

8

true story. 

Wind.

I was sort of under the impression that the further along I got, the easier this would become. But no, it's just getting more and more tedious. And the prompts are great and all (they really aren't) but I cannot come up with enough things. I mean, you'd think I'd have something good for yerterday's denial and I didn't. Today's word is wind. 

Oh, I am so looking forward to this.

curious and curiouser

This one is a  love story sort of. Did it  on my phone  again so it is  very safe to  assume that  all typing involved was  frustrating. Thank you for  not hating  me. 

Not a Love Story.

It was recently pointed out to me that I write about relationships a lot. And I do. So for a refresher before the probable love story of tomorrow, I'm going to try writing something else and this is for, well, you know who you are. I hope you're happy. 

Once there was a boy who lived with his mother in a house on a hill and everyday, he would come down from the hill to take the bus into town to buy food and clothes and other various items that they couldn't find on their isolated hill. 

One day, this boy fell in love with a bathroom sink in a men's washroom in a grocery in town and so he vowed to love the sink (well this is turning into a love story now too, isn't it). He promised that he would come down to visit everyday. 

Then, war broke out. And their house on a hill became a safe haven because, fortunately enough, the enemy didn't know how to climb hills. They were vicious and incredibly passionate about their, um, killing, but they weren't very good with climbing hills. The trouble was that the boy missed that sink in the men's washroom in that grocery so he asked his mother if maybe he could go down the hill one last time, take that bus into town (which was miraculously still on its normal route), and say goodbye. 

And his mother said yes, because she was the kind of lonely old widow who had just stopped caring for the well being of her only son when she lost her husband and realized that she was just very immensely old. 

So the boy went into town on his unharmed bus and slid into the grocery only to find that the sink he so loved had been destroyed by vandals and was covered in blood spatter. 

It was then that he realized his true calling in life: to leave town and join the theater. See, they lived in a very small town and the arts weren't very much appreciated there so he went back to his house on a hill with his decrepit old mother and told her what he was to do. And he left, pirouetted right out the door.

What happened next was a very long string of events that led to him joining the army instead, but being picked on because he was too strong and masculine for his age. And also, he liked pudding. And none of the other boys in the army liked pudding so they made fun of him. In turn, he laughed whenever one of the boys died. And it made him happy to see them blow up -- those who mocked his love for pudding.

Somehow, his mother became ill with pregnancy and so the army sent him home to take care of his miraculously pregnant mother and his soon-to-be brother. The enemy had left but pretty much everyone had died in the town.

Before he could enter the house, he turned into a tree. And he stayed blocking the way for the rest of his life.

The end. 

typhoon hurricane solar flare you

This didn't kill me like it usually does. Goodie. Hope ya'll like it. I mean, the title sucks but don't let that stop you! 

Act II

If we stay, we settle, and what happens then. Do we implode. I hope we slide away from ourselves, piece by metal piece, bolts unscrewing and then allowing us to fall apart. 

Sorry for this. I really wish I had more time to type this down. If I had more time, it would be prettier. It really would. But editing isn't a luxury I can afford right now so just, bear with me. Just get me through this month and I'll be editing more and posting less. Huzzah. 

definitely

Eh. 

You are the expanse.

This is a reaction paper.

Drown next to me.

Just edited. Now finished. I hope people are able to see the prompt word somewhere in there. Just a hope. The title is a song by AAR.

Cream and Powder Blue.

I have a Fil paper I didn't even start until a few hours ago. I am exhausted. But I didn't forget. I have a feeling this blog is going to kill me this January.

Melt

After the disaster that was yesterday, I want to say that this is me redeeming myself. But then I'd be lying. The read more for today is a bunch of cuils. And the prompt word. 

you fall
you gather
you melt

and i have no choice
but to watch
in horror
as i lose you
over
and over
and over
again

insomniac

I almost forgot. But here it is. Even if it sucks and I did it on my phone.

Let's play this out.

I'm going to try to do a 30-day writing challenge because it's in my New Year's Resolutions and I probably won't be accomplishing anything on that list; but if I can cross the write more! out, then yay me.

Disclaimer: this is supposed to be sort of a drabble writing challenge, but I'm probably not going to go strictly prose