We stood there, facing each other. I could count the freckles on her face. Her eyes held a hint of hatred, but her lips were upturned. I was sure my expression was similar, if not exactly the same, and to my great surprise, I didn't mind. I smiled unabashedly at the girl who had ruined my life and I didn't mind. Worse, I wasn't even drunk. I should want to kill her. Torture her. But I didn't. At least not now. Tears glistened in her eyes and, to my own horror, all I wanted to do was hug her. But if I did, I'd lose my position. And my respect. Normally I would care, but the last few months had been far from normal. And so, ignoring the inescapable feeling of embarrassment, I wrapped my bloody arms around her and pulled her close.
I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t say it right then. But little did I know I’d regret it that much. Right now, I’m sitting here hypnotizing the picture of you recalling every single moment I could’ve told you. But the crippling feeling of something between fear and shame shut my mouth. I let my pride get the best of me. But what good is pride if all I have left of you is this crumpled photo? I can blame it on pride or untamable desire but the brutal truth is present. And will never be absent. You’re gone and I am here. But without you only my body is here. My mind is watching a movie of me and a different man. The camera catches every detail. How my lips traced from his, not yours, lips down to his, not yours, neck. Then the scene dramatically changes and I see you, not him, in a car relentlessly rushing towards a cliff. You are in the car, not him, I don’t forget to remind myself. He is now in the shower, clueless. The movie fell blurry as i whispered, “It’s always been you, not him.”
Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive. Personally, I don’t agree with this. In our town surviving is everyone’s priority. The purpose of their life. The only goal they have in the day. No one ever asks what you did to survive. The main thing is that you survived. If you're strong enough to survive in this town on your own we want you on our team. The worse things you did the better. If you're not afraid to kill, then you're in the right place. Be selfish, be cruel, and be mean if you wanna survive because otherwise, they’re gonna kill you. Without the blink of an eye. Their blade will go right through your heart while they’re smiling at you. The last thing you’ll hear is their laugh. You mustn’t be anyone’s prey. You’ve got to be the predator hiding in the shadows waiting to strike when the time is right. So when you find yourself on the border of this time, choose wisely because there’s no stepping back.
I’ve been told that God doesn’t make mistakes. Yet here I stand, watching the flames of hell dance wildly together reaching dizzying heights. The longer I gaze into the flames of hell itself, the more I am drawn to their warmth and the beautiful shapes they create. Would you find anything like this in heaven? Hardly. And so I ask myself, what if God really doesn’t make mistakes?
Dear Diary,
I don’t know a more clichéd way to start a diary entry. But nor do I consider myself a person that would usually start a diary to begin with. But that’s the thing. Nothing is usual now. Everything has gone upside down and there’s not a single day where I wouldn’t speculate about how much time is left. Or if I didn’t waste the time given to me. It’s not fear that I feel right now. It just seems a bit unfair to me that some people have so little time to make their life meaningful. So many people waste their terribly long lives staring into a screen or hurting people that never deserved to be hurt. Someone once said “to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just exist.” And what hurts the most is that that’s true. So many people are given such a gift as life itself and choose to completely throw it away. I am genuinely disgusted by those people. I despise them. I was not given this privilege. And those who were, didn’t think of it as a privilege. Life is unfair, we all know that. But you can either sit and complain about it or learn its rules and play the game to win. So,
Dear Diary,
Let me tell you that I do not regret a thing. Everything I have done might have not been wise or responsible but it taught me some lessons. If I did everything perfectly so little would I know.
Where I live we're not used to trying new things. In fact, most of the time, we have to do what we can to survive. And that's why I thought it was strange to try something like this. It seemed like a waste of time. Something only the rich can afford. But I found out later that it's quite a common pastime among these people. Fun was a foreign word to me until recently. But now it was a normal part of my everyday life. I found myself looking for ways to pass the time while waiting for the bus (another unusual activity for me). I did the same thing with pretty much any waiting. Until a few months ago, I didn't have time to wait. I had to use every second to my advantage. Gradually, I started to unlearn it, but I knew it was a long process.
Luna - protagonist of my upcoming story.
As I opened the door, the familiar smell of mashed potatoes wafted into my nose. At first glance, such an ordinary smell that every child smells at least once in a while from their kitchen awakened years of memories in me. First friendship, first love and later a relationship that must have ended for some petty reason. I saw it all clearly in front of me as a film in which I was cast as the lead. But all those memories were interrupted by the brand new look of the hall. Nothing was the same. Everything seemed sterile and alien to me. The white floors and walls unadorned with artwork by students could be mistaken for a hospital. If it weren't for the so ordinary smell, I would have thought I had the wrong place.
The wind flows through my hair and a scream escapes my lips as gravity pulls me and my little sister relentlessly to the ground like an anchor. The fateful fall seems endless. My stomach clenches and my heart leaps out of my chest. We still haven't hit the ground. Do we still have a chance of survival? Certainly not now. We've been falling for more than half a minute. As we inch inexorably closer to the ground, a huge blinding wave of light bursts from my sister's chest. As the warmth of the light washes over me, my heart strikes one last time
Emma was ecstatic to begin her senior year on the first day of school. She had chosen the ideal outfit and had practiced her hair and makeup the previous evening. She felt assured and prepared to face the day as she entered her first class. But as she walked toward her seat, she abruptly stumbled over a stray backpack that was lying on the ground. Before she knew it, Emma was face down on the ground with her arms flailing as she fell forward. She had books and papers all over the place. Emma hastily stood up and started gathering her belongings as the classroom burst into laughter. She felt her face turning crimson red, mortified. She knew that everyone would be talking about it for days. Emma took a seat and attempted to focus on the lesson while trying to regain her calm. But the embarrassment that still hung over her wouldn't go away. The boy seated next to her made matters worse by snickering nonstop. He was obviously entertained by what had happened as he kept looking over at her and speaking in whispers to his mates. Emma, who was agitated and furious, decided to take matters into her own hands. Turning to the boy, she said, "Why is this so funny? You're acting as though you've never seen someone fall before." The kid responded stutteringly, his cheeks turning red. He was clearly humiliated, and Emma could sense it. She finally experienced a sensation of relief. Perhaps this humiliating incident can be turned into a funny anecdote about which they can both chuckle afterwards. The talk about Emma's fall continued throughout the day, she noticed. But she chose to accept it rather than be ashamed of it. She would laugh and make fun of how clumsy she was whenever anyone brought it up. By the end of the day, Emma had made a number of new friends who found her to be sweet and entertaining. Even the boy who had been making fun of her had begun to change his mind. Emma couldn't help but feel appreciative for the embarrassing incident that had begun her senior year as she left school that day. Her need for perfection had to be let go of, and it had made it possible for her to be open and vulnerable in front of others. She had also developed a sense of humor and self-assurance that she had never known she owned.
This was the day that Nick had been looking forward to for weeks. It was now time to do something he had been wanting to do for a long time. Although most people would find it trivial, he had been fantasizing about it. Nick had been intending to clean his flat for weeks because he was a bit of a neat freak. To make sure everything was flawless, he had been researching various cleaning methods and had even ordered a brand-new vacuum. The day had finally come, and Nick was so giddy with anticipation. He began by setting up his closet, meticulously folding each piece of clothing, and grouping them according to color. He then went to the kitchen and scrubbed the counters and floor until they were spotless. He hummed a melody as he cleaned, feeling pleased and proud of the progress he was making.
