Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Create a character who is envious of someone without using the words:
jealous, envy, wish, want, desire, or covet.
Writings
Was it that like?
Responding to a text and putting it out of your mind. Me? I spend ten minutes on just one text. Reply, re-reread, rehearse, repeat. Until I’ve drilled it into my mind. Well, I wouldn’t want to miss any details, wouldn’t want to have you think I ignored you, or get the date and time of our next hangout wrong.
Getting an invite and acknowledging it only once to know it’s been put into your calendar? Me? I check it at least four times. In all my calendars and all my notes, reminders, and messages. So make that sixteen times.
Tell me - what is that like? The ease of your day without a second thought to every minute of every day. If you’ve missed something. If you’ve gotten something wrong. Or let someone down.
Give me one day of your life. To know within my brain AND my heart - that it’s all going to be okay. That I don’t need to check a million times.
Give me just one minute of your day. So I know what it’s like. To walk in the door and lock the door just once, not four times. To turn the lights off and go the bed, without triple checking my lights, stove, doors. To leave a place without counting the corners of every room.
You’ll never know what it’s like. It’s obsessive. It’s compulsive. Really, you’ll never know what it’s like.
Please, I’m begging you. Give me a life, a day, a moment where I can breathe easy, feel free.
You fix your hair with a nonchalant aura, sit with your friends and laugh freely. I stare and a feeling grows in my gut. My life could be so much like yours if things could change all over the place i exist, but that is no more than just a mere dream. Alone i sit while thinking of that alternate world, i keep staring, wondering if there is a world i can be like you. That is funny, because being like you is not enough, i fear there is something even bigger that i seek, is that chance where not only could i get what you have, but be you. Yes, that is it, there is nothing better than the idea of being you, but soon a tiredness feeling arrives. Even if there is no more for me i know that is not possible. Because you are so not alike me, and you are everything i aspire to be. As far as time goes i will continue to stare and, maybe, one day i can be half of what you are.
What would it take for you to finally and genuinely love me? Would you ever or would you just feel regret? How about guilt? I should resent you but I can’t find a bone in my body that feels that way. I know I’m being used. I notice it more and more each day. I wish you would notice how you’re making me feel. I shouldn’t have to unclothe myself for you to love me. Notice me. Or even want me. But thats the thing, you don’t even love me. I don’t even think you love my body. Maybe you crave the attention I bring to you. Maybe if I go for the last time then you will notice. I want to tell you how much I feel like I’m being used. You say im special snd you don’t regret ‘getting to know me’ but you genuinely never made any effort to try to get to know me. You just wanted to get into my skin. Under my clothing and into my head. You’ll always know where my door is. No matter how hard to try to disguise it or how much I change and decorate it you will always pick the lock and let yourself in. I love you and we can’t be friends nor anything else. You never took the time to notice what I like. You don’t even know my favourite colour. Or food. You don’t know my favourite animal or what I want to do with my life. You do not know me b. You never really have. Can’t you see your brain is polluted?
I can’t help but bitterly contort my face as she passes me by. Luminous threads of golden hug her shoulders. her spine poised as a pole. I imagine her facial features are giddy with glee at their harminous sculpture.
I scrunch my fist and tighten my jaw as i reajust myself accordingly. Her radiant scent announces her approach, and I follow her gaze in desperation. I flutter my overly pampered lashes and pucker my lips, but the scent becomes bitter. my existence doesn’t even create a spark in her mind.
My coarse nails scathe my skin as I clench deeper, drawing out deep crimson that matches my chipped polish. I pull out my beaten pocket mirror and reluctantly stare myself in the eye, a tear dropping from it.
Their pillows seem more comfortable Then mine Even if it’s the same amount of feathers Same gently whirring fan Blasting temperature Given form between The fingers In your hands The same pattern where they lay Im in love with what they cover in But it’s the same duvet
So why do they seem To be so pleased to be at peace Every bone in their body Relaxed and so appeased?
Every time I see more And my vision gets clearer I cannot understand What I am seeing in the mirror
The person in the other side Isn’t filled with apprehension If only I could see what he sees From another dimension
It festers and broods within me. Gnashing in the pit of my stomach, begging for satisfaction. Knots roll and boil in my stomach, the ache buckling my knees. Because I am without you.
Instead it’s he that’s taken you. I fiend for the touch and scent of you, yearning to know it so keen as does he. My pallete blank, lacking the flavors that once nourished and inspired, now left broken and unseasoned.
Skin crawls at the loneliness of distance, heart throbs in malaise. Gone is the shiver of excitement, and left only the unmet need for proximity. A distance unbridged.
_Jackson and Scarlett were at the club while Solomon sat in the apartment reading- well with his hands. **** _Jackson stood at the bar swirling his beer and looking over at Scarlett and her Paloma cocktail. Accompanying her was a guy, a different, guy. __ They danced and danced while Jackson’s eyes got narrower and darker by the second. __ Then a loud crack, followed by a smash was heard. The club went silent, Scarlett staring at Jackson with wide, almost teary eyes. __ The one thing that scared Scarlett most, was someone dear to her wounded… __ Jackson gazed down at his hand dripping with bear and blood, with a hints of broken glass. __ He had crushed the glass bottle with his hand. __ __ Just because, she was dancing with another man…
Just out of my reach. Beckon the words to the edge of my lips.
Interloping thoughts: Bring me there, Where little beauties Are spoken in common Tongues, pains and Sorrows are swaddled Away in palm leaf cocoons, Sunlight splits into seams, Shining pillars bathing Undergrowth, coaxing Worries away.
Bland sheaths of wheat Aren’t grayed; they show So thick with gold they Summon memories of Ancient greats from the Collective conscience.
And, at the edge of it all, Was the one hammock floating In the light wind, where I listen to folding waves Gliding over sand before The undertow ebbs Into the turqoise reflection.
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