Writing Prompt

Chapter one..On a cold evening the wind whistled through the air,rain dropped likes bullets from a Gun.A man walked down the street looking pretty suspicious about that a car accident had happened in the street with no reaction he gave,not even a look.Until he looked to a old mansion that was all borded up with old decrepit wood.He gave a side eye as he walked away,but suddenly he was pulled by an...

The sun lays on the horizon like a wounded soldier, bleeding into a puddle of red, painted amongst the sky like a warriors face paint.

The trees shake, reaching up like one’s limbs, weak from battle. The man sits beneath a willow, the tree bent forwards like a veteran, cane in hand.

The man sighs into his palm, wiping away the weary tiredness. He straightens his back and stands, his spine poppin...

Painful screaming

Scattered corpses

Heartless shooting

Out of all the scabs

The broken bones

The missing limbs

They are the ones that nobody sees

They are the ones that are nearly invisible

But the guilt they bare is unimaginable

They keep me awake

They are eating away at my sanity

Yet I could never share that burden

They break me

They burn me

Till I’m as bright as a star

Cries echoi...

I knew of a soldier

Who whistled in the dark.

Who dealt us into games

With his pair of playing cards.

I remember his smile

When his wife sent him a letter.

When it came to her,

The tough guy was a beggar.

He made airplanes with papers

And shot them through the trench.

He had a funny accent,

I think that he was French.

I saw the gleam of passion,

He carried through the day.

And then I watched ...

Hefting another load onto my shoulder, I trudged back into Uncle John’s store. It was honest work and I was lucky to have it, having finally come back stateside. Sweat dripped down my back, a tickling stream between my shoulder blades when I first heard it. That familiar droning that meant danger for far too long, that sound that threw a switch I no longer had control of. Incoming, Incoming, Incom...

I have an adversary, not an aunt

The Thanksgiving table is our battleground

Where she passes judgment, not stuffing

Offended that I don’t want a slice

Of her ideology

To her, my existence is not gravy

It’s an attack

On her everything

So she launches a sneaky offensive

Small jabs marching between mashed potato hills

Hoping she can provoke me

I know I’m right

So try as I might

I can’t ...

A welcome home party tomorrow, she said.

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream at the absurdity of it.

A welcome home party, for a man who’s not home.

I can’t be home.

Not when my ears still ring with gunfire, not when I see the blood of my dying brothers on my hands as I try to stop the bleeding, not while the smell of gunpowder mixes with the faintest hint of my wife’s perfume.

Strange...

Blake sat alone in his dimly lit room, his tired eyes staring blankly at the wall. He had returned from the battlefield just a few weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. The memories of the conflict haunted him, clawing at his mind and tormenting his soul. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty, and his body trembled involuntarily. The weight of the war seemed to bear down o...

It was so quiet it hurt.

She hadn’t been somewhere this silent for four years, besides the mass cremations every other day. They’d given ten seconds of pause to honor the fallen before getting back to war. It was all they could afford.

And now it was over. They’d won. Drinks were flowing, freedom songs being belted out as loud as possible, as people laughed and cried with relief. But she couldn’t ...

Wow the days really have passed here.

People, have passed here.

Aunt Betty is now gone-

People who were children are now full grown adults,

With thoughts… and opinions. Too many in my opinion.

My mother! Where is my mother?

I can’t believe walking down the abandoned street full of childhood memories made me forget about my dearest. My loved ones. My mother.

I can just picture her standing ther...