Though his ears were ringing, Cael could still hear the cries for help of his comrades lying in the mud, bleeding out and dying. Cael pressed on. 'Get to the fort, deliver the intel. Get to the fort, deliver the intel.' The mantra played in Cael's head over and over again, helping him drown out the screams of soldiers; of friends. He had been given a very specific task - deliver the map of the enemy's movements to his commander. This depiction was created through clandestine reconnaissance and could be used to carefully curate the company's next advance. Cael had no part in any of that. Instead, he was tasked as a courier. A glorified delivery boy. But that's not how Cael saw it. No, to him, he was the crux of this war. If the war was won, it would be due to his efforts. He would not fail this mission. His mind flashed for a breif second to his compatriots he left behind, lying in black muck of half blood and dirt, and stayed there only for a moment. Cael physically shook his head, as if rattling away the thought. He could potentially save one or two, but that would delay the delivery of his diagram. And a speedy consignment was his objective; he was no Florence Nightingale. In many ways, Cael was the perfect soldier. He would do as he was told, and more importantly he would do it without questioning his chain of command. He knew for the system to work, there had to be trust. A trust he gave blindly. Cael's eyes were on the prize as he raced to the camp. He pictured the delivery clearly in his mind, visualized the congratulations he would receive. Perhaps he'd win a medal. The validation comforted him; reminded him of his worth and his paramount participation in victory. It assuaged the guilt.

There could be no doubt. The pigeons were out to get him. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to Nelson, who saw a kind of kinship between the pigeons and people of London. Both flocked to the streets in droves whenever the sun could be bothered to show itself. Both moved in jagged, unpredictable lines. And both were undeniably stupid. And that wasn’t Nelson’s opinion, it was an undeniable fact. He stood apart from the rest of the population, his intellect saw to that. In fact, he often preferred to actually stand apart from the rest of the population, things were simpler that way. People were so … chaotic. It was no wonder that Nelson preferred the calm, quiet environment of his workshop. Occasionally, he would brave the madness of the outside world, if only to collect more materials for his work. Unfortunately, that day was today. Which went some way to explain why he was feeling particularly harassed. The pigeons were following him. With their beady orange eyes and frantic flapping motions they tailed him as he walked, scarf wrapped up to his mouth to protect him from the biting wind. Nelson was so preoccupied with thoughts of the persistent pests that he failed to notice the other boy until he was practically on top of him. ‘Watch where you’re going!’ Nelson snapped, intent of untangling his scarf from the boy’s jacket buttons than engaging in conversation. ‘Sorry,’ the other boy mumbled, lifting his ungloved hands to help. His hands were the colour of Nelson’s workbench, a warm auburn, the fingers twitching from the cold. Nelson raised his eyes to study the boy’s face and was slightly taken aback to see that he was smiling. The boy caught his stare and the two stayed like that for a few moments, not saying anything, until Nelson became uncomfortable. ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, yanking his scarf from the boy’s grip, ‘I must be going.’ ‘Wait!’ The boy exclaimed, kicking up a cloud of dust as he raced to catch Nelson’s long strides. Nelson didn’t wait, or even turn round. It was more likely than not that this boy was a beggar of some description, the worn cotton of his trousers was testament to that, and Nelson didn’t have the time, or indeed the finances, to engage with beggars. ‘Hey!’ The boy yelled again, his voice blessedly feint against the clamour of carts and press of people in the street. And just when Nelson was mentally congratulating himself for another spectacular evasive manoeuvre a hand gripped his elbow. He immediately recoiled. ‘Look here –’ ‘I know you,’ the boy said, voice breathless from running. ‘Nells, please, just listen to me for five minutes.’ Nelson bristled. ‘How do you know my name?’ The boy scrunched his forehead. ‘I make it my business to know other who possess a level of intelligence like mine.’ Whatever Nelson had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. He shrugged his arm out of the boy’s grasp. ‘And?’ he said loftily. ‘Are you proposing we start a club?’ The boy groaned. ‘I am suggesting,’ he said slowly, ‘that we talk. You’re heading to the Isle of Dogs, right? I’ll walk with you.’ Nelson narrowed his eyes. How had the boy known his destination? They were in Limehouse, at least another half hour’s walk from the docks. Had he been following him? ‘Are you coming?’ the boy asked, hands shoved deep in his pockets. ‘Believe it or not,’ he added, expression clouding, ‘I’m on a tight schedule.’ ‘Fine,’ Nelson replied sardonically, ‘but I’m not known for my conversation. But you probably already knew that.’ ‘You’d be surprised,’ the boy countered, holding out his hand for Nelson to shake, ‘I’m Marcus, by the way. Marcus Mayweather.’ Nelson gritted his teeth. ‘And I don’t care.’

You have a loud voice, but maybe it’s triumph—— Triumph to grab all the attention in a room Triumph enough to shove all your doubts away and face anything head-on Triumph enough to make an impact unapologetically true You never follow directions, but maybe it’s daring—— Daring to do things whichever way you want Daring enough to look at our angry faces without fearing Daring enough to be able to just be honest and blunt You are always moving, but maybe it’s energy—— Energy to make all the younger kids laugh and adore Energy enough to never be lazy (unlike me) Energy enough while using it all to do something more You are extremely messy, but maybe it’s creativity—— Creativity to snip a bunch of papers and rearrange them in new ways Creativity to make dresses for your dolls out of cupcake liners Creativity enough to decorate our room with paper snowflakes You are extremely brash, but maybe it’s how brave you are—— Brave enough to say what you want without overthinking Brave enough to jump around without fear of injury (but don’t say I didn’t warn you) Brave enough to not care if anyone else is judging You are sweet like sugar one second and bitter the next You are impulsive, and attention-seeking, and always reckless You’re voice is so loud it gives me a headache And sometimes you seem like a complete menace—— But maybe it’s just you And maybe we both should stop fighting and just accept that For all your faults, you are charming and loving and true I love you, my annoying little sis, and I hope you know that

Lying can only get you so far It can get you a broken car Lying can also get you to hide your real feelings While not beneficial, they are temporary humans Don’t actually do that though It’ll make you worse, and only make a bad show Liars know how to manipulate the vulnerable And make them extremely uncomfortable (I really don’t know how I was supposed to make this work, im sorry.)

“I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.” I continue repeating myself because maybe I can trick my brain into believing me. “I don’t care.” Even I can hear the falter in my voice. “It doesn’t matter that he’s gone. You’re better without him.” Still not convincing. I feel my heart breaking, but all i can do is stare at the wall blankly. I know I have to let him go. Let go of the way he held me when I was sad. Let go of all of the inside jokes that would make me burst out laughing from just thinking about them. Let go of the way he smiled at me, like I was the only one that mattered. Let go of all of the memories. “Just let it go. That’s who he used to be, not who he is not.” I still don’t believe it. I thought what we had would be forever, but there were to many complications. The new girl. My cancer. Him transforming into someone incapable of love. “You’re being dramatic. You just drifted apart.” But I know there’s something else. I gave him my everything and he just took and took and left me empty. We never said it to each other, but I think that we both knew that it was over long before we ended things. I was too blinded by love to see it. But I deserve happiness. I need to forget.

they said she was too confrontational, too forward. that she was down on her luck and needed a friend. this friend happened to be a tall, slender, model like girl who makes everyone feel important— thats her specialty. the words of her friend was the final push that broke the dam and suddenly emotions and feeling came rushing out and the girl confided in her friend. she said that making friends in the new place was hard and that her friends were too spread out. the friend said that another friend of hers was dealing with the same thing, but she was managing. the friend continued on to say that her other friend was liked by the others in a way the girl was not. the girl felt betrayed and in the heat of the moment, said that she was better than the other friend. she had complete confidence in her friend and excepted the conversation to lead to vast opportunities and invites to future social events. all it got her was black-balled.

I didn’t like this prompt and honestly didn’t really know where to go with it, so I didn’t do it, but I decided I didn’t want this one Prompt to risk my streak so you get this instead 👍 sorry prompt-maker-people

I don’t hate anyone. To me hate is wishing for someone’s non-existence. I don’t hate Woods. I want him to exist. Just not in my professional life. The relationship between a manager and their employees should be symbiotic. Communication is the key to success in any business. Valuing your employees and paying fair wages is obvious. Right? Shouldn’t it be? Woods seems to disagree. Yet that lack of communication is what saved him in the end.

She was someone who dared to step out of her boundaries for the greater good of her own benefits but she had struggled to see that within her. She was someone who knew how fragile she was but instead would carry heavy stones on her back because it made her look strong. She was someone who felt saddened by the evils of past relationships but wouldn’t admit to her obsession of these addictions. She was someone cried in dark all alone but wouldn’t give herself comfort. She was someone to act like a helpless child while not giving the help she needed. She was someone who was lost, and even though she knew a way out, she decides to stay lost because she fears the escape would be scarier than the trap.

My blood has boiled at the thought of her since the 8th grade. If there is one thing in this world I still have left to hold onto, it is the animosity I have against her. I’ve tasted this bitterness in my mouth for so long that I forget that there were once sweeter days. Believe it or not, she and I were once best friends. One was never seen without the other. That was until Valentine’s Day. It was the day before lovers would be passing around chocolate and flowers. She told me that I had a secret admirer who had confided in her about sending me a valentine. I was giddy and excited for any girl would be to know someone one had eyes for her. Who was I to think I was not deserving of a boy’s admiration. But the next day would change how I saw myself in the eyes of a boy forever. I began receiving messages on my phone from my secret admirer as I rode the bus home. When I arrived home I told my mother the exciting news, all the while she was spreading word to other girls and students to buy me valentines. That morning I ecstatically woke up for school. I dedicated much time to my hair, determined every curl would catch the boy’s eyes. After an impatient bus ride, I made my way to my locker. Everyone in my grade was gathered around. My face turned beet red for I had not intended on having an audience. My friend stood there with a malicious smirk on her face. I was slightly perplexed for this was not the scenario I had envisioned. When I came face to face with my locker, she proudly opened it. There were paper hearts plastered within the interior of my locker. I read one that said “gullible” and another that stated “goody goody who will die a lonely virgin.” The rest are too painful to even speak of. I felt tears brim my eyes and my heart began to sink into the deepest abyss from which it would take years for it to have the strength to crawl out. I timidly forced my eyes to face who was once my confidant in everything, waiting for her to tell me this was some wretched nightmare from which I would soon awaken. I longed for her to pinch me awake for physical pain was better than this. She looked at me and smiled, “Did you really think any boy would want you? Good luck on finding friends who are actually going to put up with you now. From here on out you are a lost cause.” And since then I have disliked the traits few see in her for now all I see in myself is something to put up with. Every time I see a new smiling face eager to befriend me, I think to myself “I am something to put up with like white noise that everyone tries their best to ignore.” I keep friends for a while but like a cheap bandaid they all fall away from my wounds and I am left bleeding more than I was before. I dislike and admire the traits of her for all the same reasons. Because when all is quiet and I fall asleep, my mouth waters for the sweetness our friendship once had and I am no longer left with the bitterness. I mock the blindness of others who choose to not see her wickedness but yet I am the worst of them all. I am what they say I am. I am gullible for I sometimes believe that we could one day again sit beneath the summer trees with a youthful chime to our careless conversations. However, I awaken to be reminded that she was nothing more than fool’s gold, yet I am the secret admirer who applauds her ability to make everyone in her presence a fool. One day life will bite into her brittle ego and she will realize that the hallways of pep rallies and popularity is only a Gold Rush in which people never stay long enough to put up with the ones like her.