Writing Prompt

I had never detested a soul in my life, never until I met caroline. Caroline is perfect. She is smart and kind, she goes to church every Sunday and she sings along with the band. If she’s really feeling the music she sways side to side and claps to the beat. I know this because I as well go to church every Sunday, at the only church in Camden. I also sing along with the band, subtly trying to out sing Caroline. Because of Caroline, I have always been just second place Warren. Bright enough to be a star, but never enough to be the sun. I’m continuously in competition with her. “Could Caroline beat you at this too Warren?” My inner thoughts chime at me through my everyday. And I question if I will ever be enough to present to myself, or to her. So, I’ve chosen to loathe her. I hate her brown curls that fall just under her chest. I despise her cat shaped emerald eyes I have had to stare into countless times. I am disgusted by her beauty. I am disgusted by her capability.

I’d like to show her, what it’s like to not be the best. Make her feel unsure and desperate. Just for once, I’d love for her to feel as if the world isn’t in her palms. She can’t always win.

Samanther, let me tell you about good old Sammy. First of all she’s totally gorgeous, a blonde haired popular chick with no goals or aspirations, cuz she doesn’t have to have any! She get’s everything handed to her on a silver platter. Oh yeah if i forgot to mention, she’s mad rich so you can add spoilt brat to the list. Finally she’s of course the most popular girl in school. Some may argue popularity doesnt matter, but to a cheerleader in 10th grade of course it matters! And the worst part is, shes in all my classes, and in said classes i have no friends. I swear the teachers have a vendetta against me. Anyway enough rambling about Sam, ughhhh i hate her so much! Like the other day…..wait oh oops, hahaha. I know it seems like i get, uh carried away, but she’s the only thing i can think about.

Finally after what seemed like years on a tight cramped bus ride i have arrived at prison, aka school. And lucky me my faviourteeeeee class if up first…….english, yay. The only thing good about English is the air con, thats it. I usally sit in the corner, i mean no way am i sitting in the front row, i do not have a death wish. And every other row is too close to that skank. Look at her laughing, smiling, batting her hair. Blegh it makes me sick, her friends do know she’s fake right? Not my problem i guess. I finally begin to zone out, took longer than usual. I begin to day dream, I dream of a place with no Samanther and her perfectness, no drunk parents, just me, my friends in paradise. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and i shoot awake. Suddenly my eyes are greeted by HER, why is she in my personal space EW. “Hey its the end of class, everyone’s left.” Ugh why is she being so nice, i can smell a fake from a mile away. “Yeah i got that.” I snap back. “Alright see you in math!” She then joyfully walks out of class. Ugh how embarrassing, what do you mean i fell asleep and SHE NOTICED. She probably doesnt undertsand how i can even fall asleep in class cuz she probably gets 12 hours of pampered beauty sleep. Walking into Miss Greenfelds class, I remember the pain of having a seating plan. And SHE is sitting two spaces to the left, which is two spaces too close. I can barely even listen to the teacher babble on about how the worlworld’simulation of something because. I’m too busy trying to decipher what she would be judging me for. My hair? No its better than hers, my bag? No it better than hers. Hmmmmm, i then snap back to life, and realize that the teacher had been calling on me. “Sophie!” “Oh yes me Greenfeld.” “The answer to B?” “Uhhhh.” I hastily look on the board then look back down at my book trying to find the question. Oh this is taking to long! Just plus numbers on the board together! “Uhhh 15?” She gives me a sour expression. “It’s x=B2.” Crap I wasent even in the ballpark. Wait this was her plan, Sam would sit there acting all normal knowing i would be focusing on her, she purposefully distracted me! I can’t belive she would stoop this low. You know what I’m sick of this I’m confronting her.

“Wait why are you confronting her?” Dolly says. Maybe I shouldn’t of told my friends. “I just told you.” Liper then buts in. “Your confronting her for not looking at you? Sorry i dont follow.” “No! She purposely distracted me! You wouldn’t know unless you were there.” My friends both look at each other, my stomach sinks. “Look we are both kinda sick of you rambling about Sam, shes not even a bad person, nor does she hate you or anyone for that matter.” No! She’s sucked them in too. “No thats just her being a little faker! You have to believe me guys.” “Look we have to go to class, bye” they both stand up and walk away, exchanging whispers with each other. They dont get it, its not just what happened in math, I’m confronting her for every time she’s embarrassed me, angered me, and it just has to end, even if i loose my friends to do it.

Maybe he seems to have brown hair.. Or maybe black? I could only wonder. Maybe he has.. blue eyes? No. Brown. But no! What if they were green? Or grey? I wouldnt mind.. I just want that hand to reach for me. Those eyes to search for me and only me in a crowd. If he really wants me, come and get me. I just hope you last. Maybe nobody told him how to be a real man. Maybe someone did. Maybe he only soughts for me when he needs help. What if he truly doesn’t want me? That isnt true, is it? He needs to love me. He needs to. He has to. Please. I HATE YOU SO MUCH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE JUST—

Dear future husband. I dont know you yet. I just want a hand, if that’s okay. A listening ear if you will. Maybe you wont understand all the things I am. I’m just crazy in too many ways. But please love me on days I feel like I cant love anyone. Please cradle me when I need it. Just dont forget about me. Could I be enough for you? Maybe you’d think i’m too dumb. I come complete with a pack of being bad at many things. I promise i’m trying to improve. I really, really do. I’m so scared that I’ll screw my life up. But please be there to screw it back in. Oh, the darkness of this atmosphere..

Thanks.

• Sincerely, Her.

And just like that my night instantly dampened.

In walked Cassie, someone I still grapple with the idea of ever calling a friend. She was bumbling her way into the bar, purposefully loud to attract attention. I could already hear her punctuating the end of every sentence with that witchy laugh. That awful, haunted, unholy sound.

I find it strange there was ever a time that we might’ve laughed in unison. And a sound that was once so harmonious to me, is now piercing the base of my brain.

There she stood, already clinging to a large group of people as her parasitic nature demands. Her body was somewhat centered in the circle, as if to physically prevent any piece of conversation from missing her.

This was a vapid woman in very desperate need. And the list of needs was never-ending. Cassie needed validation, mainly from men and women she didn’t deem competition. Cassie needed a sympathetic ear and bullshit affirmative language she’d learned from her horribly modern therapist. She needed people to be vacant so she could take up residency in their lives until it became all-consuming.

Cassie was a horrible person. Selfish, even by my self-admittedly narcissistic standards. She’d broken ground in uncovering new ways to be a hypocrite.

And here she was. At the bar she hates solely to irk me with her presence. My face was getting hotter with each passing minute. I could feel the acidic fiery hatred rise and settle in my chest. I hated her. I hated her voice. Her clothes. Her obnoxious piercings. Her show-boating.

I’d finally reached the bottom of my glass when a resolution occurred to me. Maybe it was time to do something about Cassie…

He walked into the house smelling faintly of coffee and the stale air of long meetings. Our provider, our protector. The pillar that made this house a home, or so he likes to think. I watch him take off his work gear, oblivious to the weight of his presence and my stomach twisted with something between fondness and fury.

He had this way of sucking the oxygen out of the room without even trying, just by being so... him. Predictable. Practical. Dependable. Three words that devoured my free spirit, which had withered somewhere between his workaholic regime and his condescension about my "whimsical ideas."

"You spent how much on paint supplies?" he'd asked last week, his voice tight with disapproval like I'd committed a crime. How dare I act on impulse or passion or heaven help us all—joy. He doesn't understand joy the way I do. He sees it as a thing to be earned like a paycheck or a promotion. But to me, it's a spark, a breath of fresh air, something you seize before it melts away.

Still, I love him. It infuriates me how much I love him. His steady hands have held me through the worst nights of my life. His voice, calm and measured, had talked me down from countless ledges. And when he plays with our kids that tough exterior disappears revealing the man I'd fallen for before life hardened him into this rigid protector.

But tonight, as I watched him pour a glass of water, meticulously rinsing the glass afterward because God forbid a water spot tarnish our kitchen, I couldnt help but feel the simmering resentment rise again. He has clipped my wings, tethered me to this life of schedules and responsibilities with no outlet for me to be free and he didn't even realize it.

"Everything okay?" he asked, glancing up at me. His eyes searched mine.

"Fine." I lied. Because what was the point in saying it? That I hate how he made me feel small sometimes? That his practicality was suffocating? That I missed the version of me that laughed too loud and dreamed too big?

I loved him, but God, I loathed him too. And the worst part? I know he misses that version of me too; the wild carefree girl he'd tamed without even trying.

So I swallowed my distaste, along with the lump in my throat, kissed him on the cheek, and contemplated walking out of his life and starting fresh. But he's mine. The father of my children. My rock. The comfort that stifles my ambition...my weakness. My anchor.

I’d never been loved entirely until I met you. Neither had I experienced the deepest part of my stomach slam to the floor when I heard a name spoken just loud enough for my ears to perk up like a dog. I have never craved someone with my entire body before, never wanted so baddly for someone to want me. Neither had I ever had someone break the ground from beneath me and watch me plummet to the bottom, begging. Yet through your mistakes, and your betrayals, it is the softness in your eyes that deceives me. Through your eyes I see someone that is truely sorry, someone sorry for breaking my heart and wearing it around their neck as if it were an accomplishment. I see the part of you filled with regret, and I am patient. Knocking on you like a door, I wait for that part of you to answer warmly and welcome me inside. As if he had been waiting. He was the one who took us out, who laughed with me, and he was the one who loved me entirely. Yet you lock him away deep inside and tell me that you don’t love me? Lies. Like a plant in a drought, i’m desperately waiting for water. Waiting for you to unlock the cage that you have hid your softness and love away inside. Please, I forgive you, now where is the key?

Them.

Them and their perfect little smiles

and twisted little words.

Words that crawl throughout your spirit, draining it slowly.

Them and their shimmering blond hair and tiny eyes waist.

I love her.

But I don’t like her.

Every connection she attempts to make is false and condescending.

But the anger she feels when I am pushed on the court is real,

So is her allure.

I realize I’m not drawn to her because of her popularity,

but rather because of the fun I’ve had with her, And the pity I feel for her.

As a person, she contradicts herself

Managing a perfect balance of sincere and insincere.

I am constantly waiting for her to be honest, and am never surprised when I don’t receive it.

Yet here I am,

Always available for her, and always eager to see her.

Why is she always there?

Nagging on my mind every hour?

Does she know?

How often I’ve dreamed of dragging her off her pedestal?

Wrenn Silacor.

I want him. I need him.

I press myself against the rough corner of the brick building, watching as he strides leisurely down the bustling street. His auburn hair gleams under the artificial glow of the streetlights, each strand bouncing with every confident step. That steely gray gaze of his cuts through the night like a blade, and though his eyes don’t land on anyone in particular, they seem to claim ownership of the world around him.

He isn’t human. He can’t be.

His presence feels like a divine spectacle, and the crowd knows it too. We are mere mortals, graced by the presence of a god.

So beautiful.

He’s everything anyone could ever desire—everything I’ve ever wanted. His tanned skin, chiseled features, and perfectly sculpted physique create an image of unattainable perfection. His white shirt clings to his frame, taut over broad shoulders and a muscled chest, the fabric straining as if on the verge of surrender. Black slacks, tailored to precision, highlight the powerful lines of his legs and the curve of an impossibly perfect backside.

And those loafers… I’d let him step on me and thank him.

No one like him should exist among us lowly humans. He’s an anomaly—a beautiful, dangerous one.

I step out from my shadowed corner, pulling my hat low over my face. I follow at a careful distance, blending seamlessly into the bustling crowd. I’ve studied him for weeks, dissecting his habits and memorizing his routines until they’re etched into my mind. He lives in the wealthiest part of the city, the exclusive playground of the rich and famous. And tonight, like clockwork, he’s heading to his company’s studio.

The sidewalks blur around him as he walks with effortless grace. He’s untouchable. A star. Since his latest film, His, the world can’t stop talking about him. His chilling portrayal of a psychotic male lead dragging an innocent girl into his dark world of wealth and depravity has critics and fans alike singing his praises. Women want him, men envy him, and the universe seems to revolve around him.

When he reaches the ivory-and-steel façade of his company’s building, he pulls open the glass doors, stepping inside without a glance back. I stop just short, staying hidden as I watch him mingle with his colleagues. His easy smile and effortless charm make them lean closer, laugh harder, as if basking in his glow.

But then he smiles at one of the women—a long-legged, statuesque beauty with glossy waves of dark hair—and something ugly twists inside me. Jealousy. Envy.

How I wish I could be one of them. One of the flawless women who fit so perfectly into his world, with their supple curves, painted lips, and effortless allure. But I’m just… me. Short and fit, with freckles scattered across my cheeks and untamed curls framing my green eyes. I’m no feline predator among this sleek crowd; I’m a clumsy rabbit.

I sigh, pulling my jacket tighter as I step back into the shadows. He’ll be busy for another hour and a half. That’s how long his shoots usually take. I turn to leave, sparing one last glance over my shoulder.

And that’s when it happens.

His eyes meet mine.

The breath catches in my throat. His gaze is sharp, deliberate, as if he can see straight through me despite the distance. The world seems to freeze, and for a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us locked in this silent exchange.

But then he laughs, throwing an arm around a coworker’s shoulder as he disappears deeper into the building.

Did I imagine it? The thought does little to calm my wild, pounding heart. I stumble back into the night, forcing my feet to move. But as I slip away into the shadows, I don’t notice the slow smirk spreading across Wrenn’s face as he watches me retreat.

i think you are the most beautiful thing i’ve ever met. the nymphs are jealous of your beauty, blessed by aphrodite, you capture my mind.

i do not mind.

I want you back by my side Covering your smile with your hand even though you have the perfect smile. I miss your smile. I miss you.

I want you to be with me talking about your interests I love the sound of your voice I miss hearing your voice I miss you.

I want you next to me Making that face you do when you get excited I miss seeing that face. I miss you.

I miss your smile And I miss your laugh And I miss hearing your voice And I miss seeing your face I miss seeing you. I miss you.

It hurts so much my heart aches. Like literally aches. I want nothing else to do rather than be by you. You are the most perfect in my eyes.

I miss you.

And I want to tell you. But I can’t.