Writing Prompt

“What are you—“

“SHHH SHHH!” The blond kid placed a finger on his lips. Don’t. say. a. Word.”

Milo gulped. He inched back in his chair.

“Okay…” whispered the short-haired brunette, who had carefully drawn the curtains. “I think it’s safe to talk.”

“TALK? WHO _ARE_ YOU KIDS? WHERE AM I?”

“_Dude! Take a chill pill. _Do you want her looking for you?” Kid number 3 near the door hissed.

“Who...

Legend has it that The Author can make you vanish, just like someone rubbing an eraser against pencil writing. Others say it can make people forget who they are, and become someone else entirely. The Author is like a god of sorts, doing as they please with little regard for peoples’ lives. They can cause pain, happiness, sadness, you name it. Perhaps that’s what makes it so fearsome - the not know...

It’s been a while since she’s been here. It was a surprise today when she showed up.

She was dressed simply today. A sweatshirt and shorts. She didn’t need anything more for today. Her wings hung limply, dragging in the sand behind her.

She came and stood next to me while I looked out over the beach, off to the horizon in the distance. A single tear traced down her cheek.

“i had an awful day...

I sat at the pier, aimlessly bouncing my legs through the cool water.

The day was always cloudy here, but the nights were crystal clear, enough stars to finally understand how miniscule one was in the universe.

A tiny fish ran past my toes and I smiled, relishing the small moments.

As she stepped into my sight, she was held momentarily in shadow by the lanterns on the posts.

She looked maj...

Hearing that ‘The Author’ is looking for you is enough to make grown adults cry, a known fact for us that seams to confuse some people. It’s probably because they’re outsiders. Outsiders may believe ‘The Author’ sounds like someone who spends all their day writing, but to us, it’s much, much more than that.

The Author is our creator, our controller. They’re powerful, dangerous, and cruel. If the...

Marla is staring across the room at Richard as he sniffs the newest glass of wine that’s been set in front of him. This is the second winery he’s been in today. He doesn’t notice her trying to get his attention. This doesn’t surprise her. After thirty eight years of marriage, nothing he does phases her anymore. Not his liver cancer he beat four years ago, or this impromptu, impulsive cruise trip t...

Tristan St. James had grown to rely on two things: His wits and his movie star jawline. He was at the end of the former; the latter was the only card he had left to play as he flirted with the small town diner waitress.

“I understand that the berry cobbler here is a must have.”

Madge stopped chomping her Dentyne long enough to give the handsome stranger a smile. “It’s the second-best thing you’...

“Liberate yourselves,” they told us after they left us huddled in the muddy shack.

We clung to each other, only concerned with the immediacy of keeping warm as the endless rain pelted down outside.

We slept awhile, fitfully delirious, and when we awoke a new dawn had broken it’s silvery rainbows all across the land.

We had all come so far the past few days and we had no idea where we were or...

(p1 on my profile!)

"Hello, Ten."

She didn't wait any longer; she ran. It wasn't toward home, it wasn't toward anything– all it needed to be was away.

She ran as fast as her feet could take her, turning random corners until she dared to throw a glance over her shoulder: nothing.

Gasping for air, she slows and scans the area frantically. Who's to say he hadn't already transformed into a bird, o...

“You know who is looking for you.”

“Who?” I replied, my voice heavy with sarcasm. “The Author?”

Unamused, I stared at my friend. The stern look on my face contradicted the playful tone of the response. I knew who Steve was referring to but hated whenever someone referred to the man in the third person. It was as if his profession had become his pseudonym.

Contrary to how others cowered in...