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BEST SAD WRITING PROMPTS

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Heavenly bodies, write about a character reminiscing over something they should have said, and how their life would be completely different had they said it., write about a character who is trying to leave something or someone behind — only to realize they carry it with them., "i trusted you.", write a story where a character's last words to someone are: "i wish i could forget you.", one is the loneliest number. and you're one..

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"You've been staring out of the window for the last 3 hours. Why?"

"i'll be here forever," they said. but they had a different definition of 'forever' than you., write a story that centers memory loss., "some days it's hard to even get out of bed.", write a story that follows a relationship from its start to its end., subscribe to our prompts newsletter.

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Write a story that expands on Ernest Hemingway's famous 6-word story: "For sale: baby shoes. Never worn."

Write a story set during a visit to the graveyard., "i thought that hatred was the worst that our relationship could devolve into. but i was wrong. indifference is even worse than hatred.", write a story that both starts and ends with the word, "goodbye.", set your story at a retirement or leaving party., write a story about someone facing death for the first time in their life., write about two characters arguing over how a past event happened., write a story about someone who feels increasingly irrelevant., write a story about two characters who have been fighting for so long, they can’t remember what started it., write about a character trying to heal an old rift., win $250 in our short story competition 🏆.

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The best sad writing prompts

One great thing about creative writing prompts is that they are always there for you, especially when you want sad writing prompts. Writing is a beautiful outlet to engage with life and the world around us — and sometimes, it's the only way to deal with something painful or raw.

If you’re a writer who’s looking for some sad writing prompts to help get you in touch with your feelings or deal with such themes as love and death, this page is for you. We hope that it provides you with the inspiration that you need. 

If you're looking to cut to the chase, here’s a list of top sad writing prompts:

• Someone in the story has a lot of hard lessons to learn.
• Write a story about someone tired of their day-to-day routines.
• Write a story about someone who loses their cat.
• Write a story based on the metaphor: "Beauty is a fading flower."
• Write a story inspired by this quote from Ally Condie: "Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that."
• Write a story that feels lonely, despite being set in a packed city.
• Write a story that starts with two people saying goodbye.
• Write about one character’s fundamental misunderstanding of another character’s job.

If you’re interested in becoming an author, check out our free resources on the topic:

• Character profile template (free resource)  — All stories are character-driven, and it might be argued that this is especially true for sad stories. If you want to figure out what’s driving your character’s emotions, this free character profile template is here to help. 
• How to Write Believable Dialogue that Develops Plot and Character (free course)  — If your story requires your characters to navigate some difficult conversations about sadness, you may find this helpful. Dialogue is one of the most important writing tools that can drive character and plot. Let this free ten-day course show you how.  

Ready to start writing? Check out  Reedsy’s weekly short story contest  for the chance of winning $250! You can also check out our list of  writing contests  or our directory of  literary magazines  for more opportunities to submit your story.

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101 Sorrowful Writing Prompts That Are Sadder Than Sad

The most powerful way to engage your reader is to invoke strong emotion .

Readers who quickly empathize are more likely to keep reading a story that invites them to do just that. 

We’ve rounded up 101 heartbreaking, sad writing prompts to make your job easier. 

And since sad prompts aren’t always enough, we’ve thrown in some story ideas to show how you can spin a few words into a story your reader can’t put down. 

#1 — She never slept in this late… 

#2 — “what would you say if i asked you… “, #3 — the folks at work call me a “cat lady.”, #4 — she took her time choosing the perfect stone for this one. , #5 — he had that luxury., 101 sad writing prompts to inspire your next heart-wrenching story , what are some sad story ideas .

Check out these five sad book ideas, each based on a prompt but taking it a step further.

As you move on to the prompts list, pay attention to those that start developing in your mind into story ideas. Then set a timer for a writing sprint and see what happens. 

But as he rolled out of bed that morning, he seized upon the idea of surprising her with breakfast in bed. It took longer than he expected, and for a moment, he feared she would wake before he brought it to her. 

He needn’t have worried. 

The eggs and toast were cold now on the breakfast tray. He hadn’t noticed the folded letter on the bedside table, which the officer held in her hand as she read it. Then, she looked up at him, her mouth closed and her eyes unreadable behind the reflective lenses. 

“Can I read it, now?” he asked. 

“Asked me to what?” He visibly stiffened in his chair. She took a deep breath. 

“I want you to empty one of the two rooms you’ve filled with your things — and I mean completely empty it, closet and all — by the beginning of summer… Or I’m out.” 

He turned away, but she saw him swallow, heard him clear his throat, and take a deep, noisy breath through his nose. 

Without looking at her, he nodded briefly and said, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

I have two of them. And while my mother had earned a reputation for trapping strays in her house and taking them to the vet to be spayed or neutered, I was nowhere near that ambitious. 

Mischa and Cal just got me. Both were spayed. Both patrolled the apartment with the confidence of creatures whose mere will sustained the universe. 

Right now, they mutually shunned my guest, yowling every time the smell assaulted their nostrils. 

“Patience, kitties. Wait ‘til the embalming fluid does its work. It’s a special recipe. You’ll warm up to him no time.” 

They’d switched to cremation after she lost the first baby. Six more followed, and this one — the one she’d named Hope — had almost survived the ordeal of childbirth. It had started normally, but her doctor had urged an emergency C-section. She hadn’t argued. 

No time for anesthesia. No time to say goodbye to her husband, who told her he would be in there as soon as he could. 

Hope was silent. They tried reviving her, and she… lying on the table with her abdomen cut open, waited, afraid to breathe. 

The door opened then to let her husband in.

The luxury of agreeing to work whatever hours he chose. Not being the family chauffeur gave him a freedom he’d gotten used to. He couldn’t see why none of her interviews resulted in a job offer. 

He was about to learn. 

“Jax and Lily finish school at 2:00. Ben’s done at 3. Then Lily starts her shift at 4 and is done by 7. Jax doesn’t work today, but they do tomorrow. And no, neither of them can cancel last minute.”

“Why not? How am I supposed to get anything done if I’m constantly heading out the door to get them from something?” he asked. 

“Oh… Sorry, does your boss not know you have kids?”

Read through these sad story prompts until you find one you’d like to use, either for a new story contest or for your own creative journaling .

Develop at least one of them into an idea today. Which of these will get you started on your next writing sprint?

1. The lone survivor of an advanced race tells the story of their family’s mission to Earth and what it cost them. 

2. The main character receives a devastating diagnosis and decides to track down and try to reconnect with their estranged daughter and son. 

3. She asked him a question she wished she’d asked him years ago. He reacted much as she’d expected. 

4. One look at his face, and she knew he’d been through a lifetime’s worth of pain but hadn’t been beaten by it.

5. Whose idea was it to add “‘Till death do us part” to the wedding vows? And did only one kind of death matter to them?

6. “How did I not see it in my own daughter? She was dying right in front of me!” 

7. He teased her for not being a “detail person.” But she noticed well enough how he looked at her best friend. 

8. “A hero would sacrifice you to save the world. I’m not a hero.” 

9. They were playing hide-and-seek. She never found him. Until now. 

10. “You’ve had 15 years to notice… It just didn’t bother you enough to do something about it.” 

11. “I was hoping you’d prove me wrong. Being right is the last thing I want to be right now.” 

12. “She gave me one last look before walking out into the storm. No one has seen her since.” 

13. He had no idea how much she already knew. He walked in the door, ready to tell her everything. 

14. “You were angry with me … because I made you look bad to your family. What am I, then?” 

15. I was old enough to remember the day I became an orphan. 

16. “You honestly think this is the first time he’s done this? Where have you been?”

17. “It gets worse at night. We can’t allow anyone into that room with her.“

18. She wanted to marry her best friend. He wanted an idea she couldn’t live up to. 

19. She emptied the hope chest, filled it with potting soil, and, planting it full of cacti, left it behind his car before she drove off.

20. Being depressed is hard enough. Trying to hide it is what led to this moment.

21. “You have no idea how messed up it is that you’re fine with the way things are.”

22. Most of my nightmares are about things that happen when the sun is shining.

23. “I know I need to grieve what I thought I would have with him. But right now, I’m just relieved.” 

24. She gave him her house key and the garage door button with a small smile and nod before walking to her car.

25. “I was a different woman when I married him. And I’ve never been enough. But good Catholic husbands don’t give up, right?” 

26. “I was waiting in the car when the rain started. He stepped out onto the covered porch, looked at me, and shook his head.”

27. “What kind of retreat was this anyway?” she thought. But then she saw it: the perfect stone, worn smooth and darker than its neighbors.

28. She spent the week in bed, unable to do more than sleep between small sips of water. He wasn’t there when she recovered.

29. It was the best part of their usual cycle, but even then, she saw the beginnings of the next stage. Nothing had changed.

30. “It’s not that I’m not motivated to put in the effort to become a saint. It’s that I’d rather be anything else.”

31. His voice brought back memories she wasn’t ready for. 

32. “Don’t wait until you’re ready. No one’s really ready until they have nothing left to lose — and not enough time to enjoy winning.”

33. “One day, when he grows up and tells the church to piss off, he’ll find someone else, and they’ll be happy together. I hope.” 

34. Maybe I’m ready for a job that requires me to shower on a daily basis. Maybe I need that now. 

35. This was the song that was playing when we met. It hits differently, now. 

36. He wasn’t a stranger for long. Something he said within those first few minutes flipped a switch. And just like that, he was my home.

37. “You seriously overestimate my need for certainty.” 

38. All anyone can guess is that she took the wrong prescription by mistake. It was right next to hers. No one knew about the allergy. 

39. One day at a time, she sorted through her things, boxed them up, hauled donations out the door. This time was different. She was ready. 

40. That cat was the only creature who brought a smile to her face. No one’s seen her leave the house since. 

41. He sent her a bouquet of pink Gerbera daisies with a note. She bit her lip as she read it, sighing deeply before looking up.

42. She was the only one putting up signs when the child went missing. No one knew why until the police arrived at her door.

43. The flowers he bought meant something. The ones she bought for herself meant something else. 

44. She never needed the alcohol to numb herself. It just made it easier to stay.

45. Retirement was finally just a week away. The cardiac wing of the hospital wasn’t the vacation spot he had in mind.

46. She listed every item in the donation box, making sure to add a value estimate to every gift she’d kept. 

47. He left a note on the kitchen countertop: “I ate the cake you made for book club. It was dry.” Terrible last words.

48. “You have no idea how little those words mean right now.”

49. He’d forgotten how nice it was when people showed up when they said they would. 

50. The last teddy bear sat on top of the pile, his head bowed. 

51. The best thing about the property was the trees. One by one, they started dying. 

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52. She brewed his favorite tea every morning and started her day with it. 

53. Find a box that will work for my Dell tower, monitor (in a pillowcase w/ padding), keyboard, speakers, and cords. 

54. What could have been doesn’t matter anymore. I’m more interested in what’s next.

55. He interpreted my being demisexual to mean I wasn’t attracted to him. He was right about that — but wrong to think he could fix it.

56. We never needed a perfect dad — just one that kept trying. 

57. The “functional” bit in functional alcoholic is the word we use to trick ourselves into thinking we’re still in control — or that we ever were. 

58. He had what he said he’d always wanted. It wasn’t enough. 

59. They told her to choose between her own life and that of her unborn child. He chose for her. 

60. After years of waiting for him to see what this was costing her, she finally told him. 

61. Her leash and collar still hang on the hook by the front door.

62. He meant well. But he shouldn’t have used their daughter’s dead guinea pig as his first taxidermy project. 

63. The child had a habit of eating houseplants, and his mother, the “salad queen,” was distracted. 

64. She named her house “the Owlery” and started collecting them on her front porch, one cage at a time.

65. She folded the clothes and gently laid them in the donation box. These were for the woman she used to be. 

66. Ankle-length skirts, demure necklines, muted colors… they no longer had a place in her wardrobe. She smiled and closed the box. 

67. She paused just outside the door, hearing the dance music playing inside. She caught her reflection, and her shoulders sank.

68. She wasn’t used to being missed. So, she hadn’t called to let her parents know when she’d need a ride. 

69. For years he would ask for it, teasing her one day and then resorting to guilt. 

70. She’d burned a CD with his favorite songs, including some he’d introduced to her. She gently laid it near his cold hands. 

71. Every time she heard a dog bark, she’d freeze, waiting to hear it again. 

72. “Why are you grieving? Isn’t this what you want,” she asked. It is, now, I thought. But it wasn’t always.

73. If she were a house, her doors would be locked. But there might still be a way in for someone determined to find it. 

74. Her interview was tomorrow. The clothes would arrive next week. 

75. If there was ever a time for expedited shipping, this was it. She clicked on the box, wincing at the price. He would know.

76. I hadn’t known I was pregnant when I went out that night. 

77. She would have chosen her child. I would have chosen her. The virus chose for both of us. 

78. “Yes, beauty is fleeting,” she said. “But it’s right in front of us, now. Why not enjoy it?”

79. The flowers she’d bought the day before lay wilting on the sidewalk. 

80. “You don’t know how hard I looked for it,” he said. “It wasn’t there.” 

81. The rain and wind suddenly fell silent, and her eyes turned toward the deck window, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it.

82. She rubbed the lotion into her hands absent-mindedly, her fingernails shorter than they were before the movie started.

83. She held her doll to her face while her mother scooped her up and headed out the door. 

84. The dog stood patiently by the door as he always did, waiting for his return. 

85. Our cats all end up in the same place eventually. It’s a busy road. 

86. She’d made her famous noodle casserole for every family that came to hire her husband. This one was different.

87. The phone rang five times before the seven-year-old picked it up. “No one’s here,” he said. 

88. “The only apples that grow on those trees are half-eaten by worms by the time they ripen. You want applesauce? Buy some.”

89. I’d seen him chase her down the road, carrying something and yelling at her. The cops found them both an hour later.

90. They thought he would come when they sent word of his mother’s illness. Only after she passed did they learn the truth.

91. He had the best balance of all of us — and the least fear. 

92. No one could see that he was actually suffocating until he passed out. 

93. The box was empty. All of them were. She looked up with tears in her eyes.

94. Seconds before he pulled the trigger, I realized I was the villain in this story. 

95. Now that I’m leaving, he won’t have to worry about renting storage space for all the things he wants to keep. 

96. I could see that the front door was ajar when I pulled in. I left the engine running. 

97. The curtain fell, and behind it, so did she. 

98. She wasn’t trying to be the perfect mother. She was just trying to get through the day. 

99. She trimmed the crusts off his sandwiches and brought them to his bed. 

100. He has no idea most people aren’t born that way. No one’s told him. 

101. Someone had left the starving animal chained to a fence post in the middle of nowhere. 

Now that you’ve looked through all the sad story prompts and story ideas in this post, we hope you found at least one you’re itching to write about today. Jot it down, along with any ideas that come — snippets of dialogue, setting details, etc. 

Then pick a time and let those words flow. 

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50 Sad Story Ideas That Will Leave Your Readers Shattered

What is it about a sad story idea that’s so appealing?

I mean, it seems weird, right—the things readers want us to put them through? And it might be even weirder that we fulfill their requests so eagerly.

Maybe it’s because a book is a safe space. Sad stories give us an opportunity to explore difficult topics and our own capacity for sorrow without enduring real-life trauma.

Or maybe it’s that, like a sad song, a devastating story is cathartic. If we could use a good cry, a heart-wrenching book will get the job done.

Or maybe—and this is my favorite explanation—it’s the connective experience of seeing our own familiar pain reflected in an unfamiliar life. What reveals our common humanity more than our shared knowledge of loss, rejection, heartache, and isolation? 

And what’s more reassuring than our ability to hurt because someone else—even a fictional someone else—is hurting?

Of course, in order to pull any of this off, you’ve got to know how to use your sad story idea well . You need to know how to write a tearjerker without leaning on clichés or accidentally exploiting real-life trauma.

Fortunately, you’re about to learn exactly that. I’ll also share 50 sad story ideas you can use to write a novel your readers will never get over.

Let’s get started.

How to Evoke Emotion

The key to evoking emotion is to make your story feel real for your readers. Help them forget they’re reading fiction.

Now, a carefully crafted plot and fully developed characters will go a long way towards accomplishing this goal. But you’ll need a few nuanced moves to really drive those big feelings home. Moves like this:

Create Context

A little context helps your reader not only connect with your character’s sadness but also understand the depth and complexity of their sadness.

It’s one thing for your protagonist to lose their beloved dog. It’s another for them to lose the dog that sat loyally at their feet for every AA meeting when they were at the lowest point in their life.

Creating context can be as simple as adding a couple sentences or as revealing a full backstory through flashbacks . Either way, help your reader understand what this harrowing situation actually means for the character. 

Keep It Real

Our hungry little author brains devour all the tricks and maneuvers other writers use to spark emotions. Then, sometimes, we accidentally regurgitate those strategies onto the page (gross), using them as a sort of shortcut to accomplish what those other writers did.

That’s how we get clichés —characters sobbing into pillows and punching walls and saying “Don’t you die on me!” 

To avoid this, key into your own emotions and life experiences. 

How does loss feel in your body? What mannerisms do you observe when your romantic partner is angry? How would you describe the sounds and smells of a hospital if you’d never read another author’s description?

By all means, notice when another author’s story puts the sting in your tear ducts. But ask yourself why you feel so connected to the story. Is it the characterization? The sensory details ? A vivid metaphor?

Take the lesson and make it your own.

Show, Don’t Tell

If you’re not already familiar with this popular piece of writing advice, here’s the gist:

Great writing shows the reader what’s happening rather than explaining the scene.

For example, this is showing:

“So many times my eyes in the mirror were vacant or bruised with sorrow. Tonight they are clear and kohl lined, seemingly darkened by mystery and secrets, a cat-eyed stare shining with anticipation.” – Before I Let Go

This is telling:

“I’m used to seeing myself look sad in the mirror. Tonight my make-up looks good and I feel more alive.” –Me, ruining the line from Before I Let Go

Help the reader experience the moment for themselves. If you could use some help building your “show, don’t tell” muscles, we’ve got worksheets for that exact purpose.

At some point in your writerly life, you’re going to have to write about a trauma you have not experienced yourself. When you do, a strong imagination and deep sense of empathy can get you pretty far. But it won’t be enough.

Take some time to research the experience you’re writing about. Find articles about the psychological effects. Listen to podcasts in which specialists or survivors discuss that particular kind of trauma. Read the memoirs of people who’ve been through similar struggles.

(Little tip: we’ve got a couple articles to get you started on respectfully writing depressed and abused characters .)

It may also be a good idea to hire a sensitivity reader who can review your next-to-final draft and make sure you’re representing that experience respectfully.

This extra effort can help you…

Stay Out of the Exploitation Zone

There are two big things you want to look out for when you brainstorm sad story ideas.

First, notice if you have a character who’s defined exclusively by the sad thing that happens to them. 

For example, do you have an abused character who’s got nothing else going on other than being victimized? Or do they also experience joy and hope on occasion? Do they look for ways to find some sense of control?

As tragic as a character’s situation may genuinely be, painting them with one big trauma brush flattens them. They become sadness caricatures and the reader becomes super aware that the author’s trying to make them cry.

Second, be extremely careful about sad story ideas that are basically just “the protagonist is from a marginalized community” (assuming it’s not your community). 

For one thing, there’s a risk of portraying someone else’s entire identity as inherently sad. In no universe is that a good thing. 

And for another, marginalized voices are only beginning to get a shot at the spotlight. They’ve endured generations of watching writers from outside their community tell their stories with very little effort to get it right. 

I personally believe that when it comes to the identity-specific challenges of a marginalized demographic, it’s best to let the people who’ve lived it tell their own stories. 

50 Sad Story Ideas

Now that you’ve had a quick lesson on devastating readers both effectively and ethically, let’s get those wheels turning.

Here are 50 sad story ideas spanning five different topics.

Purpose and Identity

• After a crushing loss, a talented artist struggles to regain their creative spark.
• A serious injury forces a young athlete to end the career they’ve built their entire identity around.
• When a grandparent is diagnosed with dementia, they invite their adult grandchild on a cross-country roadtrip, hoping to connect on a deeper level before their condition progresses.
• A struggling musician plans a final performance before giving up on their dream.
• A military chaplain experiences a crisis of faith after witnessing atrocities on the war front.
• While working with a therapist to process a friend’s death by suicide, an emotionally avoidant person confronts their own mental health struggles.
• Unhoused for the first time, a middle-aged person navigates the challenges of life without a home.
• After spending the first part of their life as “the only one of their kind,” an adolescent “extraterrestrial” embarks on a mission to find their planet of origin, only to learn they were made in a lab. 
• A teenager is forced to rethink everything when they realize the “religion” they were raised in is actually a cult.
• A person finds themselves feeling trapped and unhappy in their “idyllic” life, realizing for the first time that they worked hard to build a life that would spark everyone’s envy but their own. 

• The accidental loss of a cherished family heirloom sparks a long-overdue family feud and unearths old grievances.
• A couple considers divorce when they reach an impasse about how to handle their fertility struggles.
• A young adult goes on a mission to find their twin who went missing as a child. Along the way, they’re forced to confront their resentment over a childhood that was always about the sibling who wasn’t there.
• Parents fight to get their kidnapped and adopted child back from the adoptive parents. (Or the reverse perspective: parents learn that their adopted child was kidnapped—not orphaned—and the birth parents want the child back.)
• A peasant child adopted into a royal family feels trapped between worlds.
• Two siblings who had very different experiences in the foster care system struggle to find a connection as adults.
• A stray dog goes on a journey to find a loving home.
• A single parent struggles to rescue their adult child from a cult.
• Conflict arises when an economic crisis threatens the survival of a 90-year-old family business.
• After stumbling on a family secret they were never supposed to know, three cousins carry the burden of deciding whether or not to reveal information that could destroy their family.

Relationships

• An elderly couple struggles to stay connected after their different medical needs force them to live in separate care facilities.
• Lifelong friends find themselves on opposite ends of the political divide, both sucked into social media rage culture and ultimately unable to find their way back to one another.
• Two teenagers struggling with anxiety and isolation during the pandemic discover a deeper connection in their virtual study group.
• After spending a decade together, a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity forces a couple to navigate a long-distance relationship. New opportunities and experiences cause them to question whether their relationship allows them to be their true selves.
• Young lovers are torn apart when one becomes the accused in a literal witch trial. 
• After fighting with their neighbor/friend, a person leaks a rumor about the neighbor that has more devastating consequences than they expected.
• A young, orphaned wizard discovers their adored mentor has been luring them towards danger this whole time.
• Now in danger of losing their house, a newly unemployed person discovers their best friend is to blame for their firing.
• A divorced couple reunite after two years of not speaking to put their cat to sleep together. They spend the remainder of the day hashing out what went wrong in their marriage.
• An engaged couple begins to question if love really is enough as they endure the painful process of planning a wedding that doesn’t involve their disapproving parents.

• A soldier returns home to a changed world.
• After accidentally starting a destructive wildfire, a former #vanlife influencer struggles to forgive themselves even as they try to make amends with the communities they’ve hurt.
• A family is separated while fleeing war and must find their way back to one another.
• Questioning the accuracy of their own recollections, the witness to a violent crime grapples with the power of their testimony to destroy the defendant’s life. 
• Having recently witnessed a mass shooting, a student struggles to find a sense of purpose or hope as they begin their first year of college.
• A general makes a seemingly minor error that results in a devastating attack on their utopian kingdom.
• A teacher must keep their students safe after an earthquake leaves them trapped in their classroom.
• When severe drought causes a lake to shrink, an unidentified body surfaces. A detective works tirelessly to determine who the person is and provide closure for the family.
• After being seriously injured in an avalanche, a skier must come to terms with the loss of their Olympic dreams.
• A child tries to find their way home after being swept away in a flash flood.  

• Still grappling with their own mortality, a heart transplant recipient decides to honor their donor by completing the donor’s unfinished bucket list.
• A hospice nurse is at a loss when the time comes to guide her own father through his final days.
• As their single parent battles a terminal illness, a young teenager has no choice but to serve as primary caretaker.
• After losing their mentor in a diving accident, a deep-sea diver confronts their new fear of the ocean by taking on a dangerous cave diving expedition.
• A widow(er) learns their late spouse committed a heartbreaking betrayal. Now they must grieve not only their partner but also the person they believed their partner was.
• After the death of the family dog, a child seeks the answer to whether there’s an afterlife for pets.
• Unable to move on, a widow(er)/scientist keeps traveling back in time to relive their best days with their spouse. Meanwhile, their current life is crumbling due to their neglect.
• Now able to see and understand their loved ones on a deeper level, the ghost of a recently deceased person feels regret for the way they handled their relationships in life.
• A person with a terminal illness seeks to make amends with an estranged relative before it’s too late.
• A teenager grapples with survivor guilt after a close friend dies saving their life.

Craft Your Tearjerker With Dabble

Hopefully a few of those ideas spoke to you or inspired some of your own. And now that the sad story ideas are coming in hot, you’re gonna need a place to store and organize your brilliant brainstorm .

Allow me to suggest Dabble . From Story Notes and the famous Plot Grid to co-authoring and commenting, Dabble has everything you need to stay organized through the entire writing process.

Plus, you can access Dabble on any device, online or off, and never worry about losing a word of genius thanks to autosave. 

Want to try it for yourself? Snag a free 14-day trial by clicking this link .

Now get there and utterly destroy your readers. In a good way.

Abi Wurdeman is the author of Cross-Section of a Human Heart: A Memoir of Early Adulthood, as well as the novella, Holiday Gifts for Insufferable People. She also writes for film and television with her brother and writing partner, Phil Wurdeman. On occasion, Abi pretends to be a poet. One of her poems is (legally) stamped into a sidewalk in Santa Clarita, California. When she’s not writing, Abi is most likely hiking, reading, or texting her mother pictures of her houseplants to ask why they look like that.

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135+ Sad Writing Prompts to Stir Deep Emotions in Readers

By: Author Hiuyan Lam

Posted on Last updated: October 20, 2023

Categories Writing Prompts

The benefits of using sad writing prompts

Unlocking creative depths.

Enhancing writing skills

Exploring emotions and improving mental health

Sad writing prompts to unleash creative depths

Exploring health challenges and personal struggles.

Tackling social challenges and environmental crises

Delving into personal relationships and trust issues

Artistic expressions of emotions

Sad writing prompts to develop students’ writing skills

Addressing academic pressure and anxiety.

Understanding family dynamics and common issues

Confronting bullying and peer pressure

Navigating friendship and unexpected setbacks

Sad writing prompts to facilitate emotional expressions and personal growth

Facing anxiety and fear.

Examining loneliness and isolation

Reflecting on regrets and mistakes

Dealing with loss and heartbreak

Unraveling betrayal, conflict, and misunderstandings

Do sad writing prompts have to be with a sad or tragic ending?

Conclusion: Gateways to emotional depth, imagination, and transformation

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Sad Writing Prompts: Over 50 Ideas That Are Complete Tearjerkers

• July 14, 2022

Strong emotions make for great story-telling. 

Sadness is one of those emotions that pulls on the heartstrings and makes a story engaging and memorable. 

The saddest stories make us cry and even summon a tear when we remember them long after we first heard them.

Even though sadness is a complex emotion, it’s part of life. 

Each of us will face feelings of sadness at some point in our lives. 

When it comes to story-telling, exploring sadness offers some benefits.

It allows readers to connect with the characters on a deeply personal level and can be incredibly cathartic. Catharsis is the purging of emotions through storytelling.

We’ve got you covered if you’re a writer and want an idea for a sad short story. 

This article has over 50 sad writing prompts to help you get started. 

The prompts below include general sad story ideas, sad opening lines, and suggestions for sad dialogue. 

We’ve also included sad lines and quotes from world-famous novels to inspire you further.

50+ sad writing prompts

Check out the 50+ sad story prompts below to inspire you!

Ideas for sad short stories

The main character is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Write a story about their attempts to reconnect with distant family members during the short time they have left.

A couple who lost their child to an illness years ago adopted an orphan. Write a story from the parents’ perspective as they learn to love this adopted child.

Write a story about a teenager trying to get through high school while also battling her depression. Explore her background, trials, tribulations, and the main character’s rocky relationship with herself.

Write a story from the perspective of a dead person who watches over their loved ones from the afterlife.

One of the last remaining members of an animal species is caged in a zoo. Write a story about their memories of life before the zoo, how they got caught, and their thoughts and sentiments today.

A couple about to reunite after ten years has their plans thwarted by a global pandemic. Write a series of letters between the two lovers yearning for each other during this unprecedented pandemic. For extra drama, add a conflict to the correspondence. Does a letter go missing? Is there some vital information revealed in one of the letters, something that might change the relationship?

An older, overweight woman just wants some love and affection. Her size and the amount of time since she was held by someone make her believe she is unlovable. One day, an old friend from school shows up to ask how she is. They spend time together, have lots of fun, and make lasting memories. Our main character develops feelings for her old friend, but he won’t be around forever.

A young boy is destined to become a superhero and save the world. To fulfill his destiny, he must leave his friends and family behind without telling them and enter a strict training regime in a secret location. Write a story from the perspective of his friends and family members who believe their loved one has gone missing.

A young high school couple decides to try a long-distance relationship when high school ends, and both go to different states for college. Write a letter from one partner to another explaining why they think they should break up—include memories and sentiments from the relationship and important last things they say to each other.

Write a story about a young girl whose cat was run over on the road outside her house. Explore how her parents teach her about death and grief.

An old man slowly dying in a hospital bed recounts the story of his life to his young grandson.

A father’s alcoholism tears a family apart. Write a story from the perspective of a daughter who needs her father, but his addiction makes him indisposed to help.

In high school, all the girls receive Valentine’s day cards from the boys in class. All but one. Write a story about the girl who doesn’t get a card.

Two young lovers are forbidden from seeing each other. Yearning for each other’s company, they sneak out of their respective homes. Knowing that their love is forbidden, they never return home.

A woman whose husband is killed in war dreams about him every night and wakes up alone every morning. Tired of the pain of waking up alone, she tries to go to sleep forever.

An old man and his dog are best friends and have only had each other for years. When the old man dies, the dog is left alone. The man’s relatives take the dog into their home. Every day, the dog runs away and sits on his former owner’s grave until his new owner comes to bring him home.

Sad short story opening line prompts

When I was a child I always wanted a dog, and I had one. The three months I spent with my dog was some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

Maria couldn’t cry. She was sad and angry but tired, and crying required far more energy than she could summon.

One morning, Brian woke up alone. He was surprised until he remembered that his dream life was a dream.

The best way to break a person’s heart is to pretend that you care about them.

I loved her, and she loved me. Now I’m a stranger, and she’s a memory.

One day I woke up, and she was gone. No text, no note, nothing. Just the smell of her hair on the pillow and my loneliness were all that was left.

You never know how much you love someone until they’re gone. That was one of the hardest lessons I ever had to learn.

Have you ever loved someone so much that it broke your heart?

When I was younger, I thought love was about butterflies, smiles, holding hands, and being happy forever after. Now that I’m older, I realize how much pain it causes. Still, that doesn’t mean we should stop loving.

The day the doctor told me I was sick was the first day of the rest of my life.

Looking back on my life before I died, I realize that there were so many things I could have done differently. All the worry, the procrastination, the pointless arguments, what a waste of time!

I’m done with love. Over. Never again.

Sad short story dialogue prompts

‘No, I won’t let you go!’

‘I love you.’

‘I’m sorry, but I have to leave.’

‘I was waiting for you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I wish you told me how you felt before today.’

‘I understand if you never want to see me again.’

‘Can we just talk?’

‘I don’t love you anymore.’

‘I heard this song, which made me think of us.’

‘Loving you is the best and worst thing ever to me.’

‘Is there someone else?’

‘I have some bad news.’

‘How could you do this to me?’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘I have to go, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

‘I really thought things would be different this time.’

‘I can’t help myself.’

‘I hope you never miss someone as much as I miss you.’

‘Words can’t describe the pain I feel right now.’

‘I’m worried about you; call me?’

‘All I want is one more moment with you; is that wrong?’

‘I know you don’t want to talk to me anymore, but I just want to thank you for making me a better person.’

‘I thought you would notice, but you didn’t.’

‘How can I possibly trust you anymore?’

‘I’m not mad at you, but I’m very disappointed.’

‘One time, I would have screamed and argued with you, but now I just don’t have the energy.’

‘I heard you’re happy now.’

‘All of this hurt, all of this pain, and still I love you.’

‘I never realized loving you would hurt this much. Still, I don’t regret a thing.’

‘I dreamed we were still together, you and me.’

Sad lines and quotes from literature

“Beautiful things grow to a certain height, and then they fall and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.” F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.” Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

“If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?” Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper

“There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.” Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

“I know so many last words. But I will never know hers.” John Green, Looking for Alaska

“I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.” J. D. Salinger,  Raise High the Roof Beam

“I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them.” Amy Tan, Saving Fish from Drowning

“You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.” F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

“The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.” Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

‘I think everyone feels alone in their sadness, and there’s a certain value to hearing other people’s sad stories.’   Brandon Stanton, American Novelist

Sad stories evoke difficult emotions. 

All of us have some sadness in our lives somewhere. Such is the nature of human life. 

Many of us would rather avoid sadness altogether and only allow ourselves to feel positive emotions. 

However, integrating and accepting sadness is essential for living a life of emotional stability.

Sad stories, though emotionally heavy, can help us process our own sadness. 

American Novelist Brandon Stanton believes that hearing others’ stories is valuable. We experience catharsis, the purging of emotions through experiencing them vicariously through fictional characters . 

Sad stories also help us feel sympathy, empathy, and compassion for others.

For writers, sad stories pose a challenge. 

It’s essential to approach sad scenes and themes with authenticity and honesty. 

At the same time, one shouldn’t indulge in sadness. It should exist as a theme as a by-product of the natural unfolding of events in a story.

So, if you’re a writer and you want to write a heart-heavy, tear-jerker story, use any of the prompts and ideas outlined above. 

Feel free to chop and change elements of each prompt to suit you. 

Take inspiration from one or several of the prompts above and craft your unique story that will bring a tear of sadness to your reader’s eye.

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Home / Book Writing / Sad Writing Prompts: 50+ Ideas to Get Your Started

Sad Writing Prompts: 50+ Ideas to Get Your Started

One of the reasons stories of all kinds are so popular — and have been for thousands of years — is that they help us process real-world emotions. We'll all have to deal with grief, sadness, heartache, depression, and negative thoughts at some point in our lives. And sometimes, one thing that can help us get through tough times is a story where fictional characters go through something similar.

That's why we've developed this list of sad writing prompts for your next journal entry, short story, or novel idea.

• Sad Book Genres
• Tips for Writing a Sad Story
• Sad Writing Prompts

Table of contents

• Where Do Sad Stories Fit?
• Tips to Help Your Sad Writing
• Planning for Publishing Success

One of the things we talk about here at Kindlepreneur is writing to market. That is, writing something you want to write that also intersects with an existing marke t. Preferably one with hungry readers. And as you surely know, there's no such thing as a “Sad” book genre. But that doesn't mean that sad books don't fit nicely into some existing genres . They do. And here are a couple to keep in mind:

• Literary Fiction – These kinds of books don't fit neatly into other popular fiction categories like mystery or romance. This is where you'll often find books of a sad nature, dealing with loss, depression, interpersonal relationships, and overwhelming feelings.
• Romance – There are often some seriously strong emotions in romance stories. And sadness is chief among them. But the thing to remember about the romance genre is readers expect a happy ending. So, not too much sadness!
• Drama – There's not really an official drama category in most bookstores. Amazon certainly doesn't have a drama category for Kindle books. But thinking about sad, dramatic films is a good way to categorize your story, at least in your own head.

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If you can write a book or story that evokes strong emotions from your readers, then you'll likely have a good career as an author. Provided, of course, those strong emotions are the ones you intended to evoke. No matter the genre, a good story relies on character development , conflict, and rising stakes. For this reason, there’s really only a handful of story structures out there. And if you familiarize yourself with these story structures , you can write a compelling story that people will enjoy.

The big difference between most popular fiction genres and a sad book in a genre like literary fiction is the type of stakes. In a thriller, the stakes may be death. Maybe for the character. Maybe for the whole world.

In a dramatic book, the stakes will be mostly emotional. Often love or enlightenment . If your main character doesn't get what she seeks, she'll remain lost in her life. Or he'll break down and will no longer be able to function. Or the love of her life will slip away forever.

So as you write, keep the stakes in mind. And try to keep raising the stakes as you move toward the climax . This is what readers expect. And while there's a little bit of leeway in the literary fiction genre, the climactic story structure is so ingrained in our cultural psyche that you ignore it at your peril.

Now, on to the creative writing prompts!

The following writing ideas can be used as a jumping-off point or merely for inspiration. If you like a story starter as it is, start writing and see where it takes you. Or change the writing prompt however you see fit and let the inspiration take over!

1. Write about a mental health professional who is afraid one of her patients may hurt himself.

2. Write about the grief a young character experiences when he loses a close friend.

3. Explore how social media negatively affects one young person's view of the world. Write it from the young person's perspective using first person POV .

4. Write about a young woman reading a love letter and crying. What's in the letter that's making her cry?

5. Write about two characters who speak different languages coming into conflict with each other because of their language barrier.

6. Write about a character who receives a terminal diagnosis. What does he do with the time he has left?

7. There's something wrong with your main character's sister. She begins acting erratically and saying very strange things.

8. Write about an unlikely friendship that develops between a hospice worker and a patient.

9. One high school is thrown into turmoil after a terrible bus accident takes the lives of many students.

10. Start your story as a diary entry written by a character who's contemplating suicide.

11. Think about your happiest childhood memory. Identify a few things that helped you feel that happiness. Now write a story about a character who never had those things in her life.

12. Write a story from the perspective of someone battling depression and overcoming anxiety.

13. Start a story in which one character lets anger take control. He says or does things that he'll find hard to take back when he calms down.

14. Write a story in which a small town or village is destroyed by deforestation or another environmentally questionable practice.

15. Write a story in which a woman gets convicted of a crime she didn't commit.

16. Detail one family's struggle to survive during a catastrophic natural disaster.

17. Explore the feelings of a young character dealing with rejection.

18. Write about a character who is orphaned when he loses his only family member. Will he find a new family?

19. Explore the terrible things that can happen when a loved one is afflicted with a drug problem.

20. Have a character look back on something bad that happened to their younger self. Have them use that incident to overcome their biggest challenge as an adult.

21. Sometimes what seems like the worst thing in the world can actually be a good thing. Write about how good things come from unlikely places.

22. Write about a character who has a hard time dealing with emotion. When things are bottled up, they can often come out in other ways.

23. Write about an old married couple who thinks they can no longer stay together. What are their final days before the divorce like? Do they end up falling back in love?

24. Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes. Write a story about a character finally getting out of an abusive relationship.

25. Write about how the world always seems to take the good ones away first.

26. Explore a character who ventures to meet her biological mother for the first time. The meeting is nothing like what she expected.

27. Explore the struggles families go through when dealing with a family member with a mental health problem.

28. She always wanted a child. But now that she has one, she feels like something is missing.

29. The grass always seems greener on the other side. But when you get over there, it rarely is. Write about a character who seems to burn every bridge in search of greener grass.

30. Write about a character learning to live again after suffering a debilitating injury.

31. People express their feelings in different ways. Explore a character who expresses her feelings in a way that makes people think she's abrasive.

32. Hate is a strong emotion. But so is love. Explore two characters learning how to stop hating and start loving.

33. “All I want is to find something to fill that hole inside me. But I don't think it exists.”

34. She just left the bathroom for a minute to answer the phone. There were only a few inches of water in the tub…

35. He could still feel the painful wound in his hand. This time, he managed to look into the mirror without punching it.

36. She tried to see the beauty in everything. But after the funeral, it seemed impossible. She thought all the beauty had been sucked out of the world.

37. He watched the storm coming slowly closer. The sky looked exactly like this when his life was torn apart.

38. Explore how one seemingly insignificant choice can change a life for the worst.

39. He saw the homeless man every day on the way to work. One day, he decided to call in sick and help the man.

40. Write a story about a character who must deal with a narcissistic and extremely manipulative father.

41. It feels too good to be true. Has she finally found love, or is she being manipulated?

42. He's the most in-demand actor in Hollywood. So why does he feel so empty inside?

43. Write about a character who has a bad day and is rude to someone at a coffee shop. They feel bad, but soon find out the person they were rude to is out for revenge.

44. The new marriage is exciting, but something isn't quite right. Could it be that the perfect relationship is anything but?

45. She's poor until she receives a large inheritance. But with the money comes a whole new set of problems.

46. His brother has always been a lot to handle. But on this trip back home, the sibling does something truly terrible.

47. Her favorite thing in the world is her music. But a freak accident causes her to go deaf.

48. As a writer prepares to take his final breaths before his assisted suicide, he laments those things he didn't do in his life.

49. When a young man experiences some bullying at his new school, he's heartbroken. But he could never have guessed what would happen to his bully. Or why everyone would suspect him.

50. As a godmother to her best friend's child, she never thought she'd actually have to raise the kid. But a horrible accident makes her an adoptive mother. 

Whether you use one of these sad writing prompts as a story starter or a journal prompt doesn't matter much. What matters is you sharpen your story-writing skills with practice. Whether the story is novel-length or simply a short story, you'll still enjoy the practice that comes with executing a character-driven plot .

But what if you've written a sad book and you'd like to put it out in the world to make some money from it? If that's your goal, then it's good to have a plan. 

The most successful indie authors have a plan in place before publishing their books. And part of that plan means looking at the market to find readers who are interested in their books . There’s more than one way to go about this, but only one way that doesn’t take hours of mind-numbing research.

With Publisher Rocket , you can get data in seconds that would otherwise take you hours if you were to comb through Amazon yourself . The main PR tools allow you to:

• Learn what keywords Amazon customers use to search for books like yours — and how many searches a given keyword (or phrase) receives per month.
• See what's working for other authors in your genre with data on book price, monthly sales, ranking, and book cover styles.
• Find niche categories with the right amount of demand and competition for your books.
• Gather keywords to use in your Amazon Ad campaigns.

Check out Publisher Rocket here to learn more.

Jason Hamilton

When I’m not sipping tea with princesses or lightsaber dueling with little Jedi, I’m a book marketing nut. Having consulted multiple publishing companies and NYT best-selling authors, I created Kindlepreneur to help authors sell more books. I’ve even been called “The Kindlepreneur” by Amazon publicly, and I’m here to help you with your author journey.

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40 Sad Writing Prompts and Story Ideas

If you’re into stories that really hit you in the feels, then you’re in the right place.

Sad stories have a way of sticking with us, don’t they?

They can be about devastating breakups , loss that cuts to the bone, or any kind of struggle that just doesn’t seem to have a good ending.

Want to give writing a tragic story a try?

We’ve got some writing prompts below that are all about those deep , sorrowful feelings. They’ll help you dig into themes like love , loss, betrayal , the whole nine yards.

Just a heads up – these prompts are no joke.

They’re designed to bring up some seriously heavy emotions , so get ready!

• Trapped in a Dream – Imagine you’re in a deep, everlasting dream that you can’t wake up from, and within this dream, you are constantly reliving your most regrettable actions and decisions. It’s a world that punishes you endlessly by bringing back the people you’ve hurt , the opportunities you’ve missed, and the lives you could have lived differently. Craft a story where your protagonist navigates through this dream world and attempts to find redemption within their own subconscious.
• The Lighthouse Keeper’s Loneliness – Write about a lighthouse keeper living in a remote island. The keeper’s only interaction is with occasional sailors passing by. The isolation is haunting, and he yearns for human companionship. The sight of the boundless sea only intensifies his loneliness. Explore the depths of the lighthouse keeper’s solitude and his longing for connection with the world beyond the sea.
• Once Unconditional Love – Your character was madly in love with their spouse, but after many years, the once passionate love has fizzled out. No catastrophic event or argument led to this, only the slow, torturous process of time and monotony. Describe the aching pain of still loving someone while acknowledging that the spark is gone and the struggle to reignite it.
• Memento Mori – Your main character has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. However, the true tragedy lies not in the impending death , but in the realization that they have not truly lived. Their life was dominated by the pursuit of societal norms and expectations. Write about the character’s journey to rediscover life and fill their remaining days with genuine, heartfelt experiences.
• Broken Dreams of an Athlete – Your character was once a promising athlete, but a career -ending injury shattered their dreams and ambitions. Now, they must face the harsh reality of life without the one thing that defined them. Dive into the mental turmoil of this character as they search for a new purpose and identity , all while mourning the life they once had.
• The Desolate Soldier – A veteran returns home after a long and harrowing tour of duty. He finds that while he was away fighting , life moved on without him. His home, family , and friends , everything is different and he struggles to fit in. Write about the struggle and the sorrow of the soldier trying to readjust to a world that no longer feels like home.
• The Silence of an Empty Nest – With the kids grown up and moved out, your character and their spouse are left alone in the house that was once full of life and laughter . They are both grappling with the quiet and the emptiness, feeling a profound sense of loss. Narrate the journey of acceptance and the search for a new meaning to life in the face of this deafening silence.
• Final Letters of a Migrant – Your protagonist is an old migrant who has lived in a foreign land all their life but has never truly felt at home. Now, facing the end of their life, they decide to write a series of letters to their estranged family back in their homeland. Depict the migrant’s experience of a lifetime of isolation and longing for a home that exists only in their memories.
• Unsung Hero ’s Guilt – Your protagonist has done numerous acts of kindness and bravery in secret , while another person unknowingly reaps all the praise and admiration. As the other person’s fame grows, so does your protagonist’s guilt. Write about their internal struggle of wanting recognition yet also wanting to remain an unsung hero.
• An Old Friend’s Betrayal – The protagonist is betrayed by their closest friend, a person they trusted unconditionally. The pain of betrayal is worse than the actual act of treachery itself. Capture the poignant journey of the protagonist grappling with feelings of trust broken and love lost.
• In the Shadows of Success – Your character has lived their entire life in the shadow of a successful sibling , constantly being compared and always falling short . The burden of feeling never good enough is affecting their self-esteem . Portray the protagonist’s struggle for self-acceptance in a world that only measures them against their sibling.
• Love in the Time of Dementia – Your character’s lifelong partner is slowly losing their memories due to dementia. The heartbreaking process of watching the person they love most forget their shared life together is unfolding. Write about their struggle to hold onto their shared past as the one they love slips further and further away.
• The Last Bookstore – The protagonist owns the last physical bookstore in a town where everyone else has switched to digital. Despite their efforts to save it, the inevitable closure of the store looms ahead. Describe their grief over the impending loss of not just their livelihood, but a piece of culture they hold dear.
• The Unsent Letter – Your character finds an unsent letter from their late parent. The letter reveals feelings of regret and unfulfilled dreams, giving them a new perspective on their parent they thought they knew well. Explore their journey of grief and understanding as they grapple with their parent’s untold story.
• A Mother’s Sacrifice – The protagonist is a single mother who sacrifices everything for her child , even her dreams and aspirations. One day, her child accuses her of not understanding the importance of dreams. Write about her silent sorrow and her struggle to reveal her own lost dreams without making her child feel guilty.
• The Artist ’s Last Masterpiece – An aging artist, once renowned but now forgotten, is creating what they know will be their last masterpiece. But they fear that like them, their art will go unnoticed and unappreciated. Describe the artist’s fear of being forgotten and their desire to leave a lasting impact on the world.
• A Child’s Loss – Your protagonist is a young child who loses their beloved pet , experiencing the harsh reality of death for the first time. The child’s parents, while dealing with their own grief, must explain this irreversible change . Explore the child’s journey of understanding and accepting the concept of mortality.
• The Uncelebrated Hero – The protagonist, a paramedic, is exposed to life and death scenarios daily but their work remains largely unrecognized by society. They save lives yet go home each day feeling insignificant. Narrate the story of this uncelebrated hero dealing with feelings of underappreciation while continuing their selfless work.
• Time- Travel Regret – Your character gains the ability to time travel but makes a decision that alters their timeline for the worse. Unable to rectify the situation, they must now live with a reality they created but deeply regret. Write about their struggle to adapt to this new timeline, and the burden of their regret.
• Last Words Unheard – The protagonist’s last interaction with a loved one was an argument. When that loved one suddenly passes away, the protagonist grapples with guilt, regret, and the words left unspoken. Describe their journey of coping with the guilt and seeking forgiveness in their own heart.
• The Failed Protector – Your character, a police officer, is unable to prevent a crime that results in a victim’s death. They had joined the force to protect, but now they feel like a failure, dealing with guilt and self-doubt. Illustrate their inner turmoil as they try to make peace with their failure and regain confidence in their purpose.
• Behind the Smile – Your character is known for their cheerful and bubbly personality, but underneath that, they are fighting their own mental health battles. Afraid to worry their loved ones, they choose to suffer in silence. Unfold their hidden struggle and their journey to reach out for help while maintaining their facade.
• Empty Victory – The protagonist finally achieves a goal they have been working towards for years, only to find it hollow and unfulfilling. Now, they feel lost and devoid of purpose. Describe their journey to rediscover their passion and to understand what true success means to them.
• The Poet ’s Block – Your character, a renowned poet, suddenly finds themselves unable to create any meaningful verse. With their identity tied to their art, they’re left feeling empty and lost. Write about their struggle with creative block and the fear of never being able to create again.
• Bearing the Burden Alone – The protagonist is the eldest child in a family that’s fallen on hard times. They have to take on multiple jobs and responsibilities , leaving no room for their own personal dreams or desires. Chronicle the struggles and sacrifices the character makes while feeling overwhelmed by the weight of their responsibilities.
• A Promise Unfulfilled – Your character made a promise to their best friend as children, a promise they were unable to keep due to circumstances beyond their control. Now, many years later, the guilt of that unfulfilled promise haunts them. Dive into their journey of self-forgiveness and letting go of past regrets.
• The Melody of the Past – The protagonist, a retired musician, is losing their hearing. With every passing day, the world becomes a little quieter, and their connection to their past and their music is fading. Narrate the story of their struggle to cope with this loss and their journey to find a new purpose in life.
• The Unnoticed Helper – Your character is a quiet, reserved person who constantly helps everyone but always goes unnoticed. They struggle with feelings of invisibility and yearn for acknowledgment. Write about their silent battle with loneliness and their desire to be seen and appreciated.
• Ghost of a Lover – The protagonist loses their significant other in a tragic accident. Even years after the incident, they are unable to move on and feel haunted by the memories of their lost love. Describe the pain of their loss, their struggle with letting go, and their journey to find closure.
• The Forgotten Village – Your character hails from a small village that is rapidly being forgotten due to urbanization. As the city grows, their home becomes a ghost town. Narrate their pain of seeing their home disappear and their fight to preserve their culture and heritage.
• The Letter That Never Arrived – The protagonist has been waiting for a letter from their estranged sibling for years. The letter never arrives, leaving them in a state of anticipation and longing. Depict their emotional turmoil as they grapple with the uncertainty and their longing for reconciliation.
• Invisible Chains – Your character, despite being free physically, is shackled by their past and their fear. This invisible chain is preventing them from moving forward in life. Explore their internal struggle to break free from their past and overcome their fear.
• A Flower Among Weeds – Your protagonist is a skilled and talented person living in a community that fails to appreciate their abilities. Instead of nurturing their talent, the community mocks and ridicules them. Depict the protagonist’s struggle with this constant discouragement and their journey towards self-acceptance and belief in their own worth.
• The Diary of Unspoken Words – Your character finds a diary left behind by their late spouse, revealing a side of them they never knew. The diary’s words echo with unfulfilled dreams and unexpressed emotions. Narrate the painful journey of discovery as the character grapples with these newfound aspects of their partner’s life.
• A Teacher ’s Dilemma – The protagonist is a dedicated teacher in a school system that prioritizes grades over actual learning. They watch helplessly as their students lose interest and enthusiasm for learning. Write about their struggle to ignite a spark of passion for knowledge in their students within this stifling system.
• Sorrow in Silence – Your character is a radio host who is a source of joy and positivity for their listeners. However, behind their cheerful voice lies a lonely individual battling their own demons . Explore the dichotomy of their on-air personality and their off-air reality, and their journey towards self-healing.
• A Life on the Stage – The protagonist, an aging actor, is being forced into retirement. The stage was their life, and now, without it, they feel a deep sense of emptiness. Capture their struggle to adapt to life off stage and their yearning for the applause and the lights one last time.
• Gifts From the Departed – On their birthday each year, your character receives a gift from their deceased parent, arranged years in advance. With each gift, they relive their loss anew. Write about their emotional journey each year as they celebrate their birthday with joy and sorrow in equal measures.
• The Echoes of a Childhood Home – The protagonist returns to their childhood home after decades, only to find it in ruins. The sight triggers a wave of nostalgia and loss, as they recall the days of laughter and love that once filled the house. Narrate their struggle to reconcile their vibrant memories with the stark reality before them.
• The Weight of a Crown – Your character, a young ruler, feels overwhelmed by the responsibilities of their position. They are expected to be strong and wise beyond their years, but inside, they’re still just a person filled with self-doubt and fear. Chronicle their journey as they navigate the burdens of leadership while struggling to maintain their own identity.

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How to Write a Sad Story: 33 Best Tips + Examples

Writing a sad story requires the mastery of various literary techniques, the ability to express emotion convincingly, and the skill to create characters and situations that resonate with readers.

Here is how to write a sad story:

Write a sad story by developing empathetic characters, crafting a tragic backstory, using detailed descriptive language, creating high stakes, and incorporating a fitting setting. Effective use of literary devices like symbolism, metaphors, and flashbacks can enhance the emotional depth.

In this comprehensive guide, we will explore 33 techniques that can help you write a compelling sad story.

Tip 1: Develop Empathetic Characters

Table of Contents

To create a story that genuinely moves readers, it’s essential to develop characters that they can empathize with.

Spend time developing your characters—understand their backgrounds, their motivations, their strengths, and weaknesses.

The more real your characters feel, the more readers will care about what happens to them.

For example, in Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, the characters George and Lennie are portrayed with such depth that their struggles and ultimate downfall are deeply affecting to the reader.

Tip 2: Use Show Don’t Tell

“Show, don’t tell” is a classic writing advice that applies excellently when writing a sad story.

Instead of telling readers how a character feels, show it through their actions, dialogues, or reactions. This method involves readers more deeply as it lets them infer the emotional state of the characters.

Take as an example J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Order of Phoeni x.

Instead of saying “Harry was angry,” she shows it: “ Harry was silent. His fists were clenched in his pockets. He seemed to be chewing the interior of his mouth. “

Tip 3: Craft a Tragic Backstory

Creating a tragic backstory for your character can evoke sympathy from the reader.

This backstory can be slowly revealed through the narrative, increasing reader’s investment in the character’s fate.

For instance, in The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, the protagonist Amir’s guilt over his past actions towards his friend Hassan lends a heartbreaking undertone to the entire story.

Tip 4: Use Symbolism and Foreshadowing

Symbolism and foreshadowing can be used effectively to deepen the sadness in a story.

Symbols can represent a character’s emotions or foreshadow their fate, and foreshadowing can create a sense of impending doom that enhances the tragic atmosphere.

In The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the green light stands for dreams that Gatsby can’t reach. It hints of his eventual tragedy are sprinkled throughout the book.

Tip 5: Create High Stakes

High stakes can make a story more gripping and its sad moments more impactful.

Make sure something significant is at risk – whether it’s the character’s life, their loved ones, or their cherished dreams.

Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games is a prime example.

Katniss Everdeen volunteers for the deadly Hunger Games to save her sister, making the stakes extremely high.

Tip 6: Use Detailed Descriptive Language

Using detailed descriptive language can help convey the emotional tone of a scene and make readers feel the sadness more acutely.

Describe not just what’s happening, but also the sensory details and the character’s internal thoughts.

In To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, Scout’s detailed narration of events brings a potent sense of innocence lost, making the unfairness and sadness of the story even more poignant.

Tip 7: Evoke Pathos

Pathos is a rhetorical device that appeals to the reader’s emotions.

Use it to create a strong emotional connection between the reader and your characters. This can be achieved through the portrayal of universal human experiences and raw emotions that the reader can relate to.

Consider Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arm s, where the protagonist’s despair and loss in war evoke deep pathos.

Tip 8: Write Realistic Dialogue

Well-written dialogue can reveal a character’s emotions, making the sadness in your story more real and relatable.

Ensure the dialogue feels natural and true to the character, and avoid melodramatic speeches that may come off as insincere.

In The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, the dialogue between Hazel and Gus is filled with raw emotion, making their tragic story even more heartbreaking.

Tip 9: Use Contrast

Contrasting happy moments with sad ones can make the tragic elements of your story stand out more.

This can be done by contrasting scenes, characters, or moods. The sudden shift from joy to sorrow can intensify the emotional impact.

An example is in Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, where the joyous moments only serve to highlight the tragic circumstances of the characters’ lives.

Tip 10: Choose a Fitting Setting

Create an atmosphere of sadness.

The setting of your story can contribute to the overall mood. A gloomy, desolate, or oppressive setting can reinforce the sad tone of your story.

Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights uses the bleak moorland setting to mirror the tragic and passionate story of Heathcliff and Cathy.

Tip 11: Use Metaphors and Similes

Metaphors and similes can be used to depict emotions in a creative and impactful way.

They can offer fresh perspectives and deeper insights into a character’s feelings.

For example, in 1984 by George Orwell, the metaphor “His heart seemed to be frozen” vividly conveys the character’s despair.

Tip 12: Use Internal Monologue

There are few techniques more visceral than when you dive into the character’s mind.

Internal monologue can give readers a direct insight into a character’s thoughts, feelings, and struggles. This can make the emotional journey more personal and touching.

An example is in Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, where the characters’ stream of consciousness provides a poignant look into their inner lives.

Tip 13: Create Relatable Characters

In other words, make your characters human.

Ensure your characters are relatable and have human flaws.

Readers are more likely to feel for characters who are believable and imperfect, rather than idealized or one-dimensional.

In A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, the characters’ struggles with their personal demons are so human and raw that it’s impossible not to be moved by their story.

Tip 14: Use Irony

Irony, especially tragic irony, can enhance the sadness in a story.

It occurs when a character’s actions have the opposite effect of what was intended, or when the reader is aware of information that the character isn’t.

Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex is a classic example, in a situation where Oedipus, without his knowledge, makes a prophecy come true by ending up killing his father and marrying his mother, leading to his ultimate downfall.

Tip 15: Ramp Up Conflict and Tension

Conflict and tension are the driving forces of any story.

They keep readers engaged and invested in the characters’ journeys. The more the characters struggle, the more tragic their failures or losses will feel.

In Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, Scarlett O’Hara’s constant struggles and conflicts, both external and internal, lend a tragic undertone to the entire story, making her eventual losses deeply affecting.

Tip 16: Write from the Heart

Let your own raw emotions flow into and through the story.

Writing a sad story requires a certain amount of emotional investment. Don’t shy away from channeling your own feelings into the narrative.

Genuine emotion can make a story resonate more deeply with readers.

In Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom, the author’s real-life experiences and emotions about his mentor’s illness give the story a heartfelt and moving quality.

Tip 17: Use Pacing Effectively

You want to control the emotional intensity.

Pacing plays a crucial role in managing the emotional intensity of your story. Too much sadness can be overwhelming, while too little can feel underwhelming.

Strike a balance by interspersing sad moments with lighter ones, and build up to the most emotional scenes gradually.

The pacing in The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is masterfully done.

The story unfolds slowly, building tension and emotional intensity until it culminates in a deeply affecting climax.

Tip 18: Use Imagery

As the author of a sad story, create a vivid emotional landscape.

Imagery is a powerful tool for evoking emotion. Use it to create a vivid emotional landscape that reflects the characters’ feelings.

This can be done through descriptions of the physical environment, the characters’ actions, or symbolic images.

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse is renowned for its emotive imagery.

The recurring image of the distant lighthouse, for instance, mirrors the characters’ yearning for connection and their sense of isolation.

Tip 19: Deepen Emotional Impact With Flashbacks

Flashbacks can be used to reveal a character’s past, deepen their characterization, and increase the emotional impact of the story.

They can offer insights into why a character feels a certain way, making their emotions more understandable and poignant.

In Beloved by Toni Morrison, flashbacks to the characters’ traumatic experiences during slavery add a profound layer of sadness to the story.

Tip 20: Don’t Overdo the Drama

While it’s important to evoke strong emotions, be careful not to overdo the drama.

Excessive melodrama can come off as manipulative or insincere.

The key is to keep the emotions and reactions of your characters believable and relatable.

In The Road by Cormac McCarthy, the post-apocalyptic world is bleak and the father and son’s struggle to survive is heart-wrenching, yet their emotions and reactions are so realistically portrayed that the sadness feels genuine and profound.

Tip 21: Heighten Your Prose With a Poetic Writing Style

A poetic writing style can lend a certain emotional intensity to your story.

This can be achieved through the use of rhythmic sentences, beautiful metaphors, and evocative language.

The writing style in The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath is notably poetic.

Her beautiful and evocative descriptions of the protagonist’s depression make the story all the more heartbreaking.

Tip 22: Create a Sense of Loss

Loss is a universal human experience that can evoke strong emotions.

By creating a sense of loss in your story, whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a dream, or innocence, you can tap into the readers’ emotions.

You make them feel the sadness more acutely (and, if you do your job right, even desperately ).

In Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson, the sudden loss of a dear friend leads to a profound sense of grief, making the story deeply sad and moving.

Tip 23: Use Emotional Honesty

Emotional honesty is crucial when writing a sad story.

Don’t shy away from portraying the raw, messy, and sometimes ugly side of emotions. The more honest you are in depicting emotions, the more readers will resonate with your story.

The emotionally honest portrayal of grief in The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion is deeply affecting.

Her unflinching look at the reality of losing a loved one makes the book a poignant exploration of grief.

Tip 24: Let Characters Grow and Change

Characters who grow and change in response to tragic events can make a story more meaningful and impactful.

Show how the characters are affected by the sad events, how they cope, and how they change as a result.

This can make the tragedy feel more real and significant.

In Atonement by Ian McEwan, the characters’ lives are profoundly affected by a tragic event, and their subsequent growth and change add depth and poignancy to the story.

Tip 25: Create a Bittersweet Ending

A bittersweet ending, where there’s some joy but also sadness, can leave a lasting emotional impact. It can make readers reflect on the story long after they’ve finished reading.

In “The Notebook” by Nicholas Sparks, the ending is bittersweet. The couple is finally together, but the circumstances are far from ideal, leaving readers with a mix of joy and sorrow.

Tip 26: Use a Limited Point of View

Enhance the emotional intensity.

A limited point of view can make the emotions in your story more immediate and intense.

By limiting the perspective to one character, you can dive deeper into their thoughts and feelings.

Also, you can make readers feel more connected to them.

In J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye , we only see things from the protagonist’s perspective. Holden Caulfield allows readers to experience his alienation and sadness firsthand.

Tip 27: Use Repetition for Emphasis

Another important tip is to highlight important emotional themes.

Repetition can be used to emphasize important emotional themes or symbols in your story.

By repeating certain words, phrases, or images, you can create a pattern that reinforces the sad tone of your story.

In Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, the repetition of the term “donors” and “completing” serves as a constant reminder of the characters’ tragic fate, adding a sense of dread and sadness to the narrative.

Tip 28: Use Silence and Pauses

Silence and pauses can be used effectively to create emotional impact.

A pause in dialogue, a moment of silence, or an absence can speak volumes about a character’s emotional state and enhance the sad atmosphere.

In The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, the protagonist’s silences and pauses reveal his repressed emotions and regrets, making the story subtly tragic.

Tip 29: Use Dramatic Irony

Dramatic irony is a situation where the audience has more information about what’s happening than the characters in the story.

And it can be used to increase the emotional tension and sadness in your story.

This can make readers more engaged as they anticipate the tragic outcomes the characters are unaware of.

A classic example is in Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, where the audience knows about the tragic miscommunications and misunderstandings before the characters do.

By doing so, you make the ending all the more heartbreaking.

Tip 30: Give the Reader a Tragic Hero

A tragic hero, a protagonist with a fatal flaw that leads to their downfall, can make your story more emotionally compelling.

The hero’s struggle against their fate and their eventual downfall can evoke a sense of pity and sadness.

Jay Gatsby is depicted as a doomed hero in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby .

His obsession with the past and an unattainable dream leads to his tragic end, making the story deeply sad.

Tip 31: Apply a Ticking Clock

A ticking clock, a deadline that the characters are racing against, can increase the tension and urgency in your story.

The fear of not making it in time can make the stakes higher and the tragic outcomes more poignant.

In On the Beach by Nevil Shute, the imminent arrival of deadly radiation increases the tension and urgency, making the characters’ attempts to live normally in their final days deeply tragic.

Tip 32: Keep Readers Guessing an Unreliable Narrator

An unreliable narrator, who is not entirely trustworthy or truthful, can make your story more intriguing and emotionally complex.

The uncertainty and the eventual revelation of the truth can add an element of sadness.

In the context of a sad story, an unreliable narrator can indirectly reveal their emotional turmoil, mental instability, or personal biases, which might be the sources of their sadness.

Their skewed perceptions of reality can gradually unfold to the reader.

For example, if the narrator minimizes their pain or grief, readers might only come to realize the extent of the narrator’s suffering as the story progresses.

Or, the narrator might misinterpret events due to their depressive or anxious state, leading to tragic misunderstandings or decisions.

Tip 33: Master the Art of Subtext

Subtext, what’s implied but not directly stated, can be a powerful tool for conveying emotions indirectly.

It can make the dialogue more realistic and the emotions more nuanced.

In Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway, the subtext in the dialogue between the couple reveals the tension and sadness beneath the surface, making the story emotionally resonant despite its brevity.

Here is a good video about how to write a sad story:

Summary Chart of Tips for Writing a Sad Story

Final thoughts: how to write a sad story.

Writing a sad story is an art that requires sensitivity, skill, and a deep understanding of human emotions.

By using these tips, you can create a story that touches readers’ hearts and leaves a lasting emotional impact.

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How to Write a Dark or Sad Story

Last Updated: April 11, 2023 Fact Checked

This article was reviewed by Gerald Posner . Gerald Posner is an Author & Journalist based in Miami, Florida. With over 35 years of experience, he specializes in investigative journalism, nonfiction books, and editorials. He holds a law degree from UC College of the Law, San Francisco, and a BA in Political Science from the University of California-Berkeley. He’s the author of thirteen books, including several New York Times bestsellers, the winner of the Florida Book Award for General Nonfiction, and has been a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in History. He was also shortlisted for the Best Business Book of 2020 by the Society for Advancing Business Editing and Writing. This article has been fact-checked, ensuring the accuracy of any cited facts and confirming the authority of its sources. This article has been viewed 267,785 times.

Do you want to give your story or writing project a dark or tragic turn? Are you unsatisfied with your ability to write anything but happy stories? With practice and planning, you can write a story that will chill and/or depress even your most lighthearted readers.

Sample Stories

Writing Your Own Story

• If you would prefer not to get wet, carry an umbrella with you.

Community Q&A

• Be sure that your work makes sense... read it a hundred times over if you must. Thanks Helpful 1 Not Helpful 0
• You don't have to be a serious person to be a serious writer. Thanks Helpful 1 Not Helpful 0
• Imagine if you were in the characters shoes, how would you feel? Thanks Helpful 1 Not Helpful 0

• Don't copy other people's work. Thanks Helpful 201 Not Helpful 30
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• ↑ https://writing.wisc.edu/handbook/process/reverseoutlines/
• ↑ https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/EJ1171691.pdf
• ↑ https://writingcenter.unc.edu/tips-and-tools/transitions/
• ↑ https://libguides.reading.ac.uk/writing/punctuation

About This Article

When you’re writing a dark or sad story, you’ll want it to be as realistic and engaging as possible. Try listening to sad music and dimming the lights to set the mood for your writing session. You can also do research about whatever you’re writing. For example, if you’re writing about someone with cancer, read other stories about it or watch vlogs from people dealing with cancer for inspiration. Then, start to plot the main events of your story in a rough outline. Don’t worry if your story changes while you write it, since the outline should only be a guide. While you’re writing, try to put yourself in your character’s shoes and imagine everything they think and feel. For a sample gothic short story, read on! Did this summary help you? Yes No

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Sad Death Writing Prompts: Explore Themes of Loss

My name is Debbie, and I am passionate about developing a love for the written word and planting a seed that will grow into a powerful voice that can inspire many.

Exploring the depths of loss: Introducing Sad Death Writing Prompts

A journey through grief: harnessing the power of emotional expression, unearthing hidden emotions: delving into suppressed feelings about loss, a tribute to loved ones: honoring the memories through writing, depicting the aftermath: navigating the complex emotions after a tragic loss, finding solace in words: how writing can aid in the healing process, turning pain into art: transforming grief into powerful and cathartic narratives, healing hearts through storytelling: recommendations for using writing to soothe the soul, recommendations for using writing to soothe the soul, frequently asked questions, concluding remarks.

Welcome to a writing journey like no other. Our Sad Death Writing Prompts offer a unique opportunity to delve into the complexities of loss and explore the myriad of emotions that accompany it. Through thought-provoking prompts and introspective exercises, we aim to provide a safe and empathetic space for writers to express their deepest feelings, reflect on personal experiences, or even create fictional narratives that touch upon the themes of grief, longing, and resilience.

Embracing the power of storytelling, our prompts are carefully designed to encourage raw and authentic exploration of the human experience surrounding loss. We believe that by tapping into these emotions, writers can not only find healing and solace but also create works of art that resonate with others who have gone through similar journeys. So whether you’re a novice writer seeking catharsis or a seasoned wordsmith looking for new inspiration, our Sad Death Writing Prompts will help you navigate the depths of bereavement and offer a therapeutic outlet for your emotions.

Grief is a complex and deeply personal emotion that we all experience at some point in our lives. It can be a challenging journey, but one that can be navigated with the power of emotional expression. Finding healthy ways to release and process our emotions is crucial in helping us heal and move forward.

One effective way to harness the power of emotional expression during the grieving process is through creative outlets. Art therapy, for example, can provide a safe space for individuals to explore and communicate their emotions visually. Painting, drawing, or even sculpting can serve as powerful tools for accessing and releasing feelings that words may not be able to fully capture.

Another powerful tool for emotional expression is writing. Keeping a journal or writing letters to the deceased can allow individuals to express their thoughts and feelings in a deeply personal and cathartic way. Putting pen to paper provides an outlet for reflection, processing, and exploring the complex emotions that come with grief.

Additionally, seeking support through group therapy or counseling can provide a space to share and connect with others who are also experiencing grief. Engaging in conversations with empathetic individuals who have faced similar struggles can offer comfort, validation, and understanding. Together, participants can express their emotions, verbalize their experiences, and find solace in the knowledge that they are not alone in their journey.

Loss is an inevitable part of life, and while it is natural to feel sadness, grief, and pain, society often discourages us from openly expressing these emotions. As a result, many individuals find themselves suppressing their feelings, burying them deep within. However, unearthing and acknowledging these hidden emotions can be a crucial step towards healing and finding solace. Here are some insights on why it’s important to delve into suppressed feelings about loss:

• Understanding the impacts: By openly exploring suppressed emotions, we gain a deeper understanding of how loss has affected us on various levels – mentally, emotionally, and even physically. This self-awareness allows us to recognize patterns of behavior or thought that may hinder our healing process.
• Validating our experiences: Suppressing emotions about loss often stems from societal pressure or the fear of burdening others with our grief. Yet, acknowledging and giving ourselves permission to feel these emotions is an act of self-validation. It reaffirms our right to mourn and helps break the stigma surrounding grief.
• Fostering personal growth: Exploring suppressed feelings can serve as a catalyst for personal growth and transformation. By facing our emotions head-on, we give ourselves an opportunity to learn from our pain, develop resilience, and discover inner strengths we may not have known existed.

While it can be a daunting and uncomfortable journey to unearth our suppressed feelings about loss, acknowledging and allowing ourselves to experience these emotions is an essential step towards healing and personal growth. It’s important to recognize that everyone’s path is unique, and seeking support from friends, family, or professionals can offer guidance and comfort throughout this process. By delving into our suppressed feelings, we pave the way for a future where personal growth and emotional well-being take precedence, ultimately leading to a more fulfilled and authentic life.

Losing a loved one is never easy. It’s a challenging and emotional time when we long to hold on to the memories and the essence of those we’ve lost. Writing can be a beautiful and cathartic way to honor the lives of our loved ones and keep their memories alive. Whether it’s a heartfelt letter, a poem, or a memoir, writing allows us to express our deepest emotions and celebrate the impact our loved ones had on our lives.

Writing a tribute can be a personal journey that brings solace and healing. It allows us to reflect on the cherished moments spent with our loved ones and the lessons they taught us. Through writing, we can capture their spirit, their wisdom, and their love, creating a lasting tribute that preserves their memory for generations to come. It’s a way to reconnect with our emotions, confront grief, and find comfort in the beautiful stories we weave with our words.

• Preserving memories: Through writing, we can immortalize the memories of our loved ones in a tangible and meaningful way, ensuring their stories live on.
• Expressing emotions: Writing allows us to release our feelings of grief, sadness, and even joy, providing a cathartic outlet for processing the complex emotions associated with loss.
• Celebrating their impact: By writing about the incredible impact our loved ones made on our lives, we can honor their legacies and keep their spirit alive in our hearts.

Experiencing a tragic loss is a deeply overwhelming and emotionally complex journey. It is natural to find yourself navigating through a multitude of complex emotions that can feel confusing and exhausting. Each individual copes differently, and there is no right or wrong way to grieve. Understanding these emotions and learning to navigate them can help in finding solace and healing in the aftermath.

Grief often manifests itself in various ways, as no two people experience it alike. Some common emotions that may arise during the aftermath of a tragic loss include:

• Sadness: Overwhelming feelings of sadness and despair may consume you, making it difficult to find joy in everyday life.
• Anger: Rage and anger towards the situation, others, or even yourself for not being able to prevent the tragedy.
• Guilt: Feelings of guilt may arise, questioning if there was something you could have done differently to change the outcome.
• Denial: It is common to experience a sense of disbelief or denial, trying to protect oneself from the harsh reality of the loss.
• Fear: The fear of facing a future without your loved one, the unknown, and the fear of forgetting their memory can be overwhelming.

In times of hardship, when emotions are overwhelming and clarity seems elusive, turning to writing can provide a remarkable refuge for the weary soul. The therapeutic power of putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard has long been recognized as a profound tool for healing and self-discovery. Here, we delve into the profound ways in which writing can aid in the process of healing, allowing individuals to navigate their emotions, find solace, and ultimately, come to terms with their innermost struggles.

Unlocking emotions:

• Writing offers a safe and private space to explore the depths of one’s emotions. It encourages individuals to confront and unravel their feelings, even the ones that may be difficult or painful to face.
• The act of putting thoughts into words allows for a release of pent-up emotions, fostering a sense of catharsis and relief. It enables individuals to gain insights into their own experiences and find new perspectives.
• Through writing, people can identify patterns in their emotions, behaviors, and thoughts, often leading to a better understanding of their struggles and contributing factors.

Finding solace and self-expression:

• Writing offers a refuge where one can express themselves freely without judgment or interruption, providing a safe space for cathartic introspection.
• It allows individuals to give voice to their pain, fear, or grief, validating their experiences and providing a sense of comfort.
• Writing can serve as a vehicle for self-reflection and self-discovery, enabling individuals to gain clarity, discover their true passions, and explore their identity amidst their healing journey.
• By documenting one’s thoughts and experiences, writing acts as a tangible record of personal growth and a reminder of progress made along the healing process.

When pain strikes, it has the potential to be an overwhelming and isolating experience. However, some individuals have found a unique outlet for their grief: turning it into art. By channeling their sorrow and transforming it into powerful narratives, these creative souls are using their craft as a cathartic tool for healing.

Art has long been recognized as a powerful medium for self-expression, and when coupled with the transformative force of grief, it can become even more extraordinary. Through their art, people are able to explore their emotions, confront their pain, and find solace in the process. Whether it is through painting, poetry, music, or performance, these individuals weave their grief into their chosen mediums, creating powerful and moving pieces that resonate with others who have experienced similar pain.

Storytelling is an incredible tool for healing our wounded hearts and finding solace amidst life’s challenges. Through the power of words, we can explore our pain, express our deepest emotions, and ultimately find comfort in the process. Here are some recommendations for using writing as a therapeutic practice to nurture and mend our souls:

• Journaling: Set aside a dedicated time each day to pour your thoughts onto paper. Write without judgment or censoring, allowing your emotions to flow freely. Reflecting on your experiences and emotions through journaling can provide a cathartic release while helping you gain a deeper understanding of yourself.
• Writing Prompts: Explore various writing prompts that resonate with your journey of healing. These prompts can gently guide you to evaluate your emotions, dive into your past, or envision a brighter future. Let your imagination roam freely and witness the transformative power of storytelling.
• Creating Characters: Develop fictional characters that resemble aspects of your feelings or experiences. Accompany them through their own journeys of triumph and growth, infusing them with your hopes and dreams. Through these characters, you can explore new perspectives and narratives that offer hope and healing.

Writing has the remarkable ability to unlock suppressed emotions, build resilience, and foster personal growth. Whether through poetry, short stories, or simply jotting down thoughts, the act of writing allows you to transform pain into triumph. Remember, there is no right or wrong way to write for healing; the key lies in unearthing your own truth and embracing the power of storytelling to heal your heart and nurture your soul.

Q: What are sad death writing prompts? A: Sad death writing prompts are thought-provoking prompts that encourage writers to explore themes of loss, grief, and mourning. These prompts serve as inspiration for writing pieces that delve into the emotional aspects surrounding death.

Q: Why would someone choose to write about such a somber topic? A: Writing about sad death prompts allows individuals to process their emotions, express their feelings, and explore the complexities of loss in a safe and creative way. It can provide a sense of catharsis and serve as a form of therapy for those who are experiencing grief or who want to gain a deeper understanding of the human experience.

Q: What themes can be explored through sad death writing prompts? A: There are numerous themes that can be explored through sad death writing prompts. Some examples include coping with loss, the impact of death on relationships, the meaning of life and mortality, the stages of grief, and finding hope amidst sorrow.

Q: How do sad death writing prompts help writers? A: Sad death writing prompts help writers by providing them with a starting point for their creative exploration. These prompts can ignite the imagination, challenge writers to think deeply, and evoke powerful emotions. They can also help writers develop their writing skills, enhance their ability to express complex emotions, and connect with readers on a profound level.

Q: Can sad death writing prompts be useful for personal reflection? A: Absolutely. Sad death writing prompts can be an excellent tool for personal reflection. They encourage writers to dig deep within themselves, reflect on their own experiences or losses, and gain insights and new perspectives on life and mortality.

Q: Are there any potential benefits in sharing sad death writing prompt responses? A: Sharing sad death writing prompt responses can have numerous benefits. It can create a sense of community among writers who have experienced loss or grief, and it can provide solace and understanding to readers who have gone through similar experiences. Additionally, sharing these reflections can raise awareness about important topics surrounding death and help reduce the stigma associated with discussing such emotions.

Q: Can sad death writing prompts be triggering for some individuals? A: Yes, sad death writing prompts have the potential to be triggering for individuals who are currently experiencing intense grief or have suffered recent losses. It is important for writers to approach these prompts with self-care in mind, and for readers to approach sensitive content with caution and mindfulness of their own mental well-being.

Q: How can one effectively use sad death writing prompts? A: To effectively use sad death writing prompts, it is important to approach them with an open mind and heart. Allow yourself to feel the emotions that arise, and let your words flow without judgment. Give yourself permission to explore difficult themes and seek ways to provide healing and growth through your writing. Remember to engage in self-care and seek support when needed.

Q: What are some resources for finding sad death writing prompts? A: Sad death writing prompts can be found online through writing communities, creative writing websites , or through writing exercises found in books or workshops focused on grief and loss writing. Additionally, connecting with writing groups or seeking guidance from a writing mentor can offer valuable resources and prompts specific to sad death themes.

In conclusion, using sad death writing prompts can provide an opportunity to deeply explore themes of loss and reflect on its impact on our lives.

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At Creative Writing Prompts, we believe in the power of words to shape worlds. Our platform is a sanctuary for aspiring writers, seasoned wordsmiths, and everyone. Here, storytelling finds its home, and your creative journey begins its captivating voyage.

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Top 100 Short Story Ideas

by Joe Bunting | 128 comments

Do you want to write but just need a great story idea? Or perhaps you have too many ideas and can’t choose the best one? Well, good news. We’ve got you covered.

Below are one hundred short story ideas for all your favorite genres. You can use them as a book idea, as writing prompts for writing contests , for stories to publish in literary magazines , or just for fun!

Use these 100 story ideas to get your creative writing started now.

Editor’s note: This is a recurring guide, regularly updated with ideas and information.

If you're in a hurry, here's my 10 best story ideas in brief, or scroll down for the full version.

Top 10 Story Ideas

• Tell the story of a scar.
• A group of children discover a dead body.
• A young prodigy becomes orphaned.
• A middle-aged woman discovers a ghost.
• A woman who is deeply in love is crushed when her fiancé breaks up with her.
• A talented young man's deepest fear is holding his life back. 
• A poor young boy or girl comes into an unexpected fortune.
• A shy, young woman unexpectedly bumps into her soulmate.
• A long journey is interrupted by a disaster.
• A young couple run into the path of a psychopath.

Get The Write Structure here »

Why Creative Writing Prompts Are Helpful

Below, you'll find our best creative writing prompts and plot ideas for every genre, but first, why do we use prompts? Is it just a waste of time, or can they actually help you? Here are three reasons we  love writing prompts at The Write Practice:

1. Practice the Language!

Even for those of us who are native English speakers, we're all on a language journey to go from beginners to skilled writers. To make progress on this language journey, you have to practice, and at The Write Practice, believe it or not, we're really into practice! Creative writing prompts are easy, fun ways to practice.

Use the prompts below to practice your storytelling and use of language. The more you practice, the better of a writer you'll become.

2. When you have no ideas and are stuck.

Sometimes, you want to write, but you can't think up any ideas. You could either just sit there, staring at a blank page, or you could find a few ideas to help you get started. Even better if the list of ideas is curated from our best plot ideas over the last decade that we've been publishing lessons, writing exercises, and prompts.

Use the story ideas below to get your writing started. Then when your creativity is warmed up, you'll start to come up with your own ideas!

3. To develop your own ideas.

Maybe you do have an idea already, but you're not sure it's good. Or maybe you feel like it's just missing some small piece to make it better. By reading other ideas, and incorporating your favorites into your   story, you can fill your plot holes and generate creative ideas of your own.

Use the story ideas below to develop your own ideas.

4. They're fun!

Thousands of writers use the prompts below every month, some at home, some in classrooms, and even a few pros at their writing “office.” Why? Because writing prompts can be fun. They get your creativity started, help you come up with new ideas of your own, and often take your writing in new, unexpected directions.

Use the plot ideas to have more fun with writing!

How to Write a Story

One last thing before we get to the 100 story ideas, let’s talk about how to write a great short story . (Already know how to write a great story? No problem. Just skip down to the ideas below.)

• First, read stories. If you’ve never read a story, you’re going to have a hard time writing one. Where do you find great stories? There are a lot of places, but check out our list of  46 Literary Magazines  we’ve curated over here .
• Write your story in a single sitting. Write the first draft of your story in as short a time as possible, and if you’re writing a short story , try to write it in one sitting. Trust me, this works. Everyone hates being interrupted when they’re telling compelling stories. Use that to your advantage and don’t stop writing until you’ve finished telling yours.
• Read your draft. Read your story through once, without changing anything. This will give you a sense of what work it needs going forward.
• Write a premise. After reading your first draft, get your head around the main idea behind your story by summarizing your story in a one sentence premise. Your premise should contain four things: a character, a goal, a situation, and a special sauce. Not sure what that means or how to actually do that? Here’s a full premise writing guide .
• Write, edit, write, and edit. Good writing is rewriting. Use your second draft to fill in the plot holes and cut out the extraneous scenes and characters you discovered when you read the first draft in step #2. Then, polish up your final draft on the next round of edits.
• Submit! Real writers don’t keep their writing all to themselves. They share it. Submit your story to a literary magazine , an anthology series , enter it into a writing contest , or even share it with a small group of friends. And if it gets rejected, don’t feel bad. You’ll be in good company.

Want to know more? Learn more about how to write a great short story here .

Our 100 Best Short Story Ideas, Plot Ideas, and Creative Writing Prompts

Ready to get writing? Here are our 100 best short story ideas to kickstart your writing. Enjoy!

10 Best General Short Story Ideas

Our first batch of plot ideas are for any kind of story, whether a spy thriller or a memoir of your personal life story. Here are the best story ideas:

• Tell the story of a scar, whether a physical scar or emotional one. To be a writer, said Stephen King, “The only requirement is the ability to  remember every scar .”
• A group of children discover a dead body. Good writers don’t turn away from death, which is, after all, the  universal human experience. Instead, they look it directly into its dark face and describe what they see on the page.
• A young prodigy becomes orphaned. Orphans are uniquely vulnerable, and as such, they have the most potential for growth.
• A middle-aged woman discovers a ghost. What do Edgar Allen Poe, Ron Weasley, King Saul from the Bible, Odysseus, and Ebenezer Scrooge have in common? They all encountered ghosts!
• A woman who is deeply in love is crushed when her fiancé breaks up with her. “In life every ending is just a new beginning,” says Dakota Fanning’s character in Uptown Girls.
• A talented young man’s deepest fear is holding his life back. Your character’s biggest fear is your story’s secret weapon. Don’t run from it, write about it.
• A poor young boy or girl comes into an unexpected fortune. Not all fortunes are good. Sometimes discovering a fortune will destroy your life.
• A shy, young woman unexpectedly bumps into her soulmate (literally bumps into him). In film, this is called the “meet cute,” when the hero bumps into the heroine in the coffee shop or the department store or the hallway, knocking her books to the floor, and forcing them into conversation.
• A long journey is interrupted by a disaster. Who hasn’t been longing to get to a destination only to be delayed by something unexpected? This is the plot of  Gravity ,  The Odyssey , and even  Lord of the Rings .
• A young couple run into the path of a psychopath. Monsters, whether people who do monstrous things or scaly beasts or a monster of a natural disaster, reveal what’s really inside a person. Let your character fall into the path of a monster and see how they handle themselves.

Now that you have an idea, learn exactly what to do with it.  Check out my new book The Write Structure which helps writers take their ideas and write books readers love. Click to check out  The Write Structure  here.

More Short Story Ideas Based on Genre

Need more ideas? Here are ideas based on whichever literary genre you write. Use them as character inspiration, to start your own story, or borrow pieces to generate your own ideas. The only rule is, have fun writing!

By the way,  for more story writing tips for each these plot types, check out our full guide to the 10 types of stories here .

10 Thriller Story Ideas

A thriller is any story that “thrills” the reader—i.e., gets adrenaline pumping, the heart racing, and the emotions piqued.

Thrillers come in all shapes and forms, dipping freely into other genres. In other words, expect the unexpected!

Here are a few of my favorite thriller story ideas :

Rosa Rivera-Ortiz is an up-and-coming lawyer in a San Diego firm. Held back by her ethnicity and her gender, she works twice as hard as her colleagues, and she’s as surprised as anyone when she’s requested specifically for a high-profile case. Bron Welty, an A-list actor and action star, has been arrested for the murder of his live-in housekeeper. The cop heading the case is older, ex-military, a veteran of more than one war, and an occasional sufferer of PTSD. Rosa’s hired to defend the movie star; and it seems like an easy win until she uncovers some secrets that not only make her believe her client is guilty, but may be one of the worst serial killers in the past two decades… and he knows she found out .

It’s the Cold War. Sergei, a double-agent for the CIA working in Berlin, is about to retire when he’s given one final mission: he’s been asked to “defect” to the USSR to help find and assassinate a suspected double-agent for the Kremlin. Sergei is highly trusted, and he’s given to understand that this mission is need-to-know only between him and very few superior officers. But as he falls deeper into the folds of the Iron Curtain, he begins to suspect that his superior officer might just be the mole, and the mark Sergei’s been sent to kill is on the cusp of exposing the leak.

It is 1800. A lighthouse on a barren cliff in Canada. Two lighthouse keepers, German immigrants, are alone for the winter and effectively cut off from the rest of the world until the ice thaws. Both Wilhelm and Matthias are settled in for the long haul with warm clothes, canned goods, and matches a-plenty. Then Wilhelm starts hearing voices. His personal belongings disappear from where he’d placed them, only to reappear in strange spots—like the catwalk, or dangling beneath the spiral stair knotted in brown twine. Matthias begs innocence. Little by little, Wilhelm grows convinced that Matthias is trying to convince him (Wilhelm) to kill himself. Is the insanity real, or is this really Matthias’ doing? And if it is real, what will he do to defend himself? There are so many months until the thaw. 

20 Mystery Story Ideas

Enjoy a good whodunit? Then you’ll love these mystery story ideas .

Here are a few of my favorites:

Ever hear the phrase, “It is not who fired the shot but who paid for the bullet?” This is a philosophy Tomoe Gozen lives by. Brave and clever, Tomoe follows clues until she learns who ordered the murder: Emperor Antoku himself. But why would the emperor of Japan want to kill a lowly soldier?

Mystery writer Dan Rodriguez takes the subway every day. Every day, nothing happens. He wears earbuds and a hoodie; he’s ignored, and he ignores. Then one evening, on his way home from a stressful meeting with his publisher, Dan is startled out of his funk when a frantic Middle-Eastern man knocks him over at a dead run, then races up the stairs—pursued by several other thugs. The Middle-Eastern man is shot; and Dan discovers a mysterious package in the front pocket of his hoodie. What’s inside, and what does he need to do to survive the answer?

A headless corpse is found in a freshly-dug grave in Arkansas. The local police chief, Arley Socket, has never had to deal with more than missing gas cans and treed cats. His exploration of this weird murder digs up a mystery older than the 100-year-old town of Jericho that harkens all the way back to a European blood-feud.

20 Romance Story Ideas

Ready to write a love story? Or perhaps you want to create a subplot with a secondary character? We've got ideas for you!

Hint: When it comes to romance, a sense of humor is always a good idea. Have fun! Here are a few of my favorite love story ideas :

She’s a cop. He’s the owner of a jewelry store. A sudden rash of break-ins brings her to his store over and over and over again, until it becomes obvious that he might be tripping the alarm on purpose—just to see her. That’s illegal—but she’s kind of falling for him, too. Write the moment she realizes she has to do something about this crazy illicit courtship.

Colorado Animal Rescue has never been more challenging than after that zoo caught on fire. Sally Cougar (no jokes on the name, or she’ll kill you) tracks down three missing tiger cubs, only to find they’ve been adopted by millionaire Bryce Champion. Thanks to an antiquated law on the books, he legally has the right to keep them. It’s going to take everything Sally has to get those tiger cubs back.

He’s a museum curator with a fetish for perfection. No one’s ever gotten close to him; how could they? They’re never as perfect as the portraits, the sculptures, the art that never changes. Then one day, an intern is hired on—a young, messy, disorganized intern, whose hair and desk are in a constant state of disarray. The curator is going half-mad with this walking embodiment of chaos; so why can’t the he stand the thought of the intern leaving at the end of their assistantship?

20 Sci-Fi Story Ideas

From the minimum-wage-earning, ancient-artifact-hunting time traveller to the space-exploring, sentient dinosaurs, these sci-fi writing prompts will get you set loose your inner nerd.

Here are a few of my favorite sci-fi ideas :

In a future society, neural implants translate music into physical pleasure, and earphones (“jacking in”) are now the drug of choice. Write either from the perspective of a music addict, OR the Sonforce agent (sonance + enforcer) who has the job of cracking down.

It’s the year 5000. Our planet was wrecked in the great Crisis of 3500, and remaining human civilization survives only in a half dozen giant domed cities. There are two unbreakable rules: strict adherence to Life Quality (recycling doesn’t even begin to cover these laws), and a complete ban on reproduction (only the “worthy” are permitted to create new humans). Write from the perspective of a young woman who just discovered she’s been chosen to reproduce—but she has no interest in being a mother.

So yeah, ancient Egypt really was “all that” after all, and the pyramids turn out to be fully functional spaceships (the limestone was to preserve the electronics hidden inside). Write from the perspective of the tourist exploring the ancient society who accidentally turns one on.

20 Fantasy Story Ideas

Need a dose of sword-in-the-stone, hero and/or heroine packed coming-of-age glory?  We love fantasy stories!

Here are a few of my favorite fantasy story ideas:

Bored teenaged wizards throwing a graduation celebration.

Uncomfortable wedding preparation between a magic wielding family tree and those more on the Muggle side of things.

A fairy prince who decides to abandon his responsibilities to become a street musician.

Just try to not have fun writing (or even just reading!) these fantasy writing prompts.

The Secret to Choosing the Best Story Idea

Stories, more than any other artistic expression, have the power to make people care. Stories have the ability to change people’s lives.

But to write a great story, a life-changing story, don’t just write about what your characters did, said, and saw. Ask yourself, “Where do I fit in to this story? What is my personal connection to this story?”

Robert Frost said this:

If you can connect your personal story to the story you’re writing, you will not only be more motivated to finish your story, you might just be able to change the lives of your readers.

Next Step: Write Your Best Story

No matter how good your idea, writing a story or a book can be a long difficult process. How do you create an outline, come up with a great plot, and then actually  finish  it?

My new book  The Write Structure  will help. You'll learn how to take your idea and structure a strong plot around it. Then you'll be guided through the exact process I've used to write dozens of short stories and over fifteen books.

You can learn more about   The Write Structure  and get your copy here.

Have a great short story idea?  We'd love to hear it. Share it in the comments !

Choose one of these ideas and write a short story in one sitting (aim for 1,000 words or less!). When you're finished, share your story in the practice box below (or our latest writing contest ) for feedback from the community. And if you share, please be sure to comment on a few stories by other writers.

Joe Bunting

Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris , a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).

Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.

Work with Joe Bunting?

WSJ Bestselling author, founder of The Write Practice, and book coach with 14+ years experience. Joe Bunting specializes in working with Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, How To, Literary Fiction, Memoir, Mystery, Nonfiction, Science Fiction, and Self Help books. Sound like a good fit for you?

128 Comments

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” —Robert Frost

Great quote, right?

i like porn

Your site is just awesome!

My latest project has been working on a TV-format screenplay. In TV writing, there are B storylines, which are plot lines that span the course of a season (or several seasons). Each episode, however, has an A storyline, which is the plot of the events in that particular episode. Each A storyline is essentially a short story, and churning them out is surprisingly difficult! Lately I’ve been outlining episodes for my own story. I’ve just completed one that I particularly like, and would love to hear what you all think!

The Vampire Cat

The episode opens with Leiko telling the rest of the crew The Dream of Akinosuke. She finishes the story and they all head off to bed. Leiko walks Shannon to her room. On the way, Shannon asks Leiko if the events of the story were the main character’s dreams or if they were real. Leiko replies that for the Japanese the line between dreams and reality is very thin. They say goodnight and part ways.

The next day, the crew touches down on planet Lorraine. Their mission is to rob an auction house of a valuable piece of art if their client is not able to purchase it. They attend the auction. The client is outbid, so that night they return to the auction house to steal the sculpture. While looking for it, Leiko uncovers a dimension hopping machine, which she assumes to be a piece of junk. The crew is surprised by the auction house’s guards. Shannon is shot in the fight. Leiko tries to help her, but is intercepted by a guard. They fight, and Leiko falls inside the dimension hopping machine. She falls against a lever. The doors to the machine close and it begins spinning very fast. Leiko is thrown to the floor and the impact knocks her unconscious.

When she awakes, Leiko is no longer in the machine or the auction house. She is in a 16th century Japanese barracks, surrounded by soldiers. Furthermore, she is dressed like them and they address her as Soda. When she catches a glimpse of her reflection, she realizes to everyone else she looks like a Japanese man. Unsure if she is dreaming or not, Leiko decides to play along. She hears from the other soldiers that the prince of the region is seriously ill, and thinks maybe with her advanced medical knowledge she can help. She sneaks into the castle to see him. On the way, she passes a group of court ladies. The most beautiful of them smiles at Leiko and her eyes flash yellow. Leiko shakes it off, assuming she must be seeing things. She reaches the prince’s room and is shocked to find Shannon lying close to death, surrounded by attendants. She is discovered and thrown out, but she begs to be told what’s happened to the prince, and is informed he has a mystery sickness no doctor can diagnose. It is feared he will die. The prince’s attendants suggest that if she is so worried about her sovereign, she should pray for his health. Before she leaves, she uses to her dagger to look at Shannon’s reflection, and sees that her reflection is in fact that of the prince. Leiko feels the whole situation is somehow strangely familiar, but unable to put her finger on why, she decides there is nothing for it but to follow the attendants’ advice.

That night she goes to the holy quarter and bathes at the well before praying to the statue of Buddha for the prince’s/Shannon’s recovery. A voice calls to her, and she looks up to see a figure in a window above her. The figure asks her to come up. Leiko goes into the building and finds a priest who introduces himself as Ruiten and tells her he has been brought to the castle to find the source of the prince’s illness and asks for her help. Leiko finally realizes why this all seems familiar to her – she is in the story of The Vampire Cat of Nabeshima, playing the part of the young soldier Ito Soda. She makes a conjecture: the dimension hopping machine really worked and has brought her to the spirit world. Shannon, after being shot, is dying, and her spirit has taken the place of the prince in the story. If Leiko saves the prince, she saves Shannon. Ruiten agrees that this may be possible. Leiko agrees to help him. Knowing how the story goes, she now has a hunch as to what is causing the prince’s sickness.

Leiko goes back to the castle, and straight to the house of the court ladies. She digs under the verandah and finds exactly what she thought she would – the body of the beautiful lady, with puncture wounds in her throat.

The next day, Ruiten obtains permission for Leiko to keep watch over the prince with his attendants. That night, all the attendants fall asleep. Leiko keeps herself awake by stabbing herself in the leg. Later in the night, the beautiful lady comes to the room. She says her name is O Toyo, and she is the prince’s favorite companion. Under Leiko’s watchful eye, she cannot harm the prince, so she leaves.

The next morning, Leiko goes to confront the false O Toyo. They fight. Before Leiko can kill her, the false O Toyo shifts to her true form – a demonic black cat – and escapes the castle. Ruiten sends soldiers after her. Just then, there’s a scream from the prince’s room. Leiko and Ruiten rush from to the room and are told the prince is dead. Leiko pushes her way to the bed and, taking Shannon in her arms, pleads with her to wake up. In course of this, Leiko realizes she’s in love with her friend. Suddenly Shannon opens her eyes and says Leiko’s name.

Leiko wakes up in the med bay of the Perseus, surrounded by the crew. Shannon is in the bed next to her, weak but alive. Leiko gets up to tend to her. Shannon asks if one of the crew was holding her, because she could have sworn she felt like she was lying in someone’s arms. Kaya jokes that she must have been having a good dream. Leiko remarks that maybe it was something more.

This is great! Seriously, I really enjoyed it. Now you have to write it! 🙂

Hey Sunny! Loving this website

Opps that was my grandma 🙂 But she right

Do you know of any Romance magazines that offer short story romances or literary magazines dedicated to just romance? Just curious.

I’m not familiar with any, but try googling “romance literary magazines” or “romance short stories” and I’m sure you’ll find some. Reply back if you find any that are particularly promising.

I just want to say, there are so many good stories on this website. This show the amount that you have helped all these people, maybe one day I will add myself to those people, thank you.

http://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-genre/romance-by-writing-genre/romance_markets

بدأت تمطر ورأيت الناس يسرعون للإختباء من قطراته فابتسمت لذكرى جميلة عبرت خاطرى ..تذكرت امى عندما كانت ترقص تحت المطر بفستانها الوردى..الهى كم كنت أعشق هذا الفستان عليها..كان يناسب بشرتها الفاتحة ونحولة جسدها .جذبتنى من يدى يومها واخذنا ندور فى حلقات لا تبدء ولا تنتهى. شعرت ببرودة يديها تصعق يداى وبرودة المطر تبلل وجهى أحسست وبالسعادة تغمرنى لانك اخيرا بجانبى واخيرا تبتسمين اشتقتك يا اماه ..أشتقت لتفاصيلك وابتسامتك. أشتقت لمعنى وجودك جانبى ..المطر يهطل، أعلم أنك لو كنت الأن معى لجذبتينى ورسمنا بأقدامنا دوائر حتى تبتل عظامنا ..سأرقص لك فقط وسأبتسم لك فقط. بدأت عيون الناس تتجه نحوى ..تستنكر فعلتى ولكنى لا أفعل شئ.انا فقط أخبر أمى إنى بخير وأنى أشتاقها..ولكن للمطر طعم غريب يا أمى. له طعم ألم فراقك ،طعم الحياة بدونك ؛هو المطر وهى الحياة ولكن طعمهما مؤلمين يا أمى

I’m writing a “Thriller.” I’m very excited. A short story. Thank you. Right on time as usual!

Fun! Good luck LaCresha.

I’m wondering about “the sagging middle” in story structure right now. I’m happy with my beginning and ending, but the middle isn’t as dynamic as I want it to be. Does anyone have any experiences or advice about this? (It’s a 25 000 word story that’s due for a competition in about four months.)

Hey Rosie. We have a few resources on that. First check out our structure and plot cheatsheet: https://thewritepractice.com/plot-structure . Then, a great guest post on story structure with a hole in it: https://thewritepractice.com/story-hole . And I always recommend Save the Cat, which is a book for screenwriters, but is also very helpful for story structure in general: http://amzn.to/1TNpv2F . Highly recommend it.

The story grid is a good site and podcast for story structure. 🙂

But longer than 15 min but here it is.

I rub my fingers into the soft fuzz on the big brown chair. I can make designs if I move my fingers up or down. A dot makes one eye. Then another. A line for a smile finishes my chair picture. ‘Why would Daddy take money and blow it into the wind?’ I wonder as I draw.

A wet spot lands by the mouth, making the brown turn dark. I try to wipe it away, but the face disappears instead. I lay back in the chair, bumping my twin brother and making the dim room spin. My pink and orange stripe shirt is soft as I wipe my eyes. James’s tears fall to the chair like rain, his mouth open like one of the squishy balls we play with. His cry is loud. I join the noise.

Mommy’s hair, as dark as the wet spot on our chair, poofs around her face. Her green eyes seem small with her eyebrows close together. Teeth and gums show as Mommy screams like a roaring lion. Daddy points a finger at her nose. He looks so big. He yells, trying to be louder than her. James and I try to cry louder than them. Maybe they will hear us. Maybe they will stop.

Mommy lets out one last angry scream and tries to push Daddy away. A long red line comes on his arm. Red water comes out of it. Daddy’s eyes widen. His face turns red. He grabs Mommy by her arms, lifts her, and pushes her to the door like a rhinoceros. The wood breaks as they go through.

The noise has stopped, except for sirens in the distance. I curl into a ball in the chair, James’s knee sticking into my back, and close my eyes.

James and I get to sleep in the same bed tonight. It’s strange having Daddy read and tuck us in by himself, but he tells us Mommy will be home soon. I still don’t understand why she went to jail. I thought jail was for bad guys, but Daddy says everything will be ok.

The lights go out bringing shadow monsters. I hug my brother.

Bit longer than 15 minutes, but here it is

‘Scars’

The noise has stopped, except for sirens in the distance. I curl into a ball in the chair, James’ knee sticking into my back, and close my eyes.

This was so good! You have a really good writing style!

“The wall, he decided, will always be there”

He awoke, or at least it seemed he did, for he could not tell if he had been dreaming or if he were dreaming now. He pushed the woollen, scratchy blanket away from his body. There were no sheets, and his skin stuck to the plastic mattress that smelled of others sweat and urine. After prying his flesh from the tenacious bedding, he managed to sit up. He was more tired than he had remembered. He was still dirty and thirsty and his eyes hurt as they squinted in the dim hazy light. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. For long moments, he sat that way fearing punishment for doing anything that might be wrong.

Eventually, however, his eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy light and he began to see things. Across from him he could see a wall. He wondered how long the wall had been there. The question struck him as absurd. The wall he decided would always be there. In this confusion, he meditated on the hardness before him until a thought of beauty entered his mind and the nakedness upset him. “There are no pictures…it has no pictures hanging from it.” Lacking the courage, or cowardice, to look away he continued staring blankly until his sight improved still further and he found something within the wall that excited him. “I forgot…about…colour…I can see the colour now!” He tried to give the colour a name. “Dirty…” he thought. “Filth.” he said out loud. “It is a filthy colour.” he whispered silently to himself.

Quickly, the excitement left him and he began to grow tired of looking at the wall, even the colour began to bore him. The boredom gave him a sense of courage and he became bold. He decided to explore. Cautiously he moved his eyes to the right where he saw…a corner, Then the head began to turn to follow the lead of the eyes. They continued past the corner until they gazed upon something he recognized.

He hated what he saw, the familiar object that hid in the shadows…the thing that kept him here. He glared at it, but the closed and bolted door remained unmoved. It was then that he turned back to the wall he had grown to know and the boredom…he had grown to love.

incredible first sentence!

Incredible first sentence and incredible last sentence. Shivers up my spine. Thank you.

3 words…. copy and paste

Omg how why are people so good at writing stuff?!?!?

idek!?!?!!! i’m a freshman in high school and i can’t even write a simple short story.

Give it time…

This was a wonderful read ^_^ Short and enticingly written. Drew me in right away with that first bit, and especially the way it was all tied together by that first sentence. Lovely!

I know it’s been two years but it’s still very good and still deserves praise. I like this trippy atmosphere, you managed to convey it very nicely.

Some great story ideas here. You could even combine some of them in interesting, tenuous ways for a multi-location epic.

Thanks Bridget! Absolutely. And there’s nothing I love more than a good epic.

These are great ideas. I like the idea of prompts. Though sometimes, I get stuck when I write from a prompt. And sometimes, I’m not able to write a story in one sitting. I have to think about how I want the story to play out. I might have done it once, and they were pretty short. But most of the time, it takes a couple of sessions. That’s how I’m wired, I suppose.

Ten years of therapy, about a million different types of pills and three psychiatrists have helped me enough to write this. I was eleven when it happened, my older sister, Quinn, was almost sixteen, and my best friend was ten. I’ll never forget it… I doubt anyone ever will.

It was a warm summer day, early June, my best friend, Harper was over and we were playing in the backyard. We were laughing and singing along to a song that I couldn’t tell you the name of now. It was the middle of a normal day, but that’s what they always think just before everything goes wrong. Well, anyways,Harper and I amused ourselves doing everything and nothing for a while before we decided that we wanted to go to upstairs and bug Quinn, who we thought was doing her online drivers ed. courses. We raced up to her room, giggling like the little girls we were. When we got to her room, Harper grabbed the doorknob and tried to fling the door open, but it was locked. That should have been my first sign that something was wrong, Quinn never locked her door, we weren’t allowed to. We yelled, laughing, “Let us in! Let us in!” We giggled and knocking on her door again and again. There was no response, so I remember grabbing the key my parents always had, it opened all of the doors to me and my sibling’s bedrooms… I wish I would’ve known what I know now. I wish I wouldn’t have opened that door.

That day was the last happy day for a long time. I remember everything clearly, the breeze ruffling my short hair, the sound of Harper screaming the lyrics to our favorite song at the top of her lungs. I especially remember the thing that has haunted me for the past ten years. I remember my sister’s lifeless body lying in a pool of her own blood on her bed. I remember the look on her face being more peaceful than I’ve ever seen it. I remember screaming as I stared at the image of Quinn, her wrists bleeding and her skin pale. I remember the sound of Harper frantically dialing 911 and I remember the ambulance arriving. I remember the paramedics calling my parents and hearing my mom’s piercing scream from the phone. I remember the paramedics forcing me out of Quinn’s room, while I kicked and screamed at them, begging them to let me stay with my sister. It was the last time I saw her face. I remember collapsing in my dad’s arms. That was the first time I heard him cry, it wouldn’t be the last.

She was already dead when the ambulance got there. Suicide, they said, she killed herself. It took a long time to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault. If I had only went to see her sooner I could’ve saved her. The funeral was closed casket and everyone cried. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was too numb. I don’t remember much of the funeral, it was just a blur of black and navy blue, with the occasional apology thrown in there. I never got why everyone apologized, it wouldn’t bring her back.

I was just a little girl and there I was with my childhood torn away from me. I was a younger sister and then I was an only child. A piece of me has been missing from me ever since that die and I doubt I’ll ever get it back again.

This was based on the boy or gets an unexpected fortune. I flushed out the typos, but its okay. Check it out! 😀 Caleb Pratt

Mistaken Divinity

My bar drinks of the wooded timberland were one of the most profound expeditions in my walk into becoming a god. I cupped the glass of cool bud light, and sipped it up at the mini bar table. I rested my hand on the wooden counter top, my fans and companions gambling each other on some high level daredevil match.

“Hey, Lexan, where you at,” I turned to see my friend Rodriguez. Fun man to have around with. He was had long grey hair, even for a guy. I pushed off the table and stood straight. I kept my hand in my pocket.

“You have a lot of realty in the new diversion your causing. Sherman hasn’t even sighted any more Divine Partakers, let alone, any Christian circumspect.”

“I know I know, but… we are, what they are… except the for the grace,” Rodriguez said.

“Right,” I narrow my eyes down towards the ground. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say about us Mormons being what the Christian Community isn’t. I mean, there almost all extinct, if not a hundred percent. We are the erected believers… who are in sure denial of the forthcoming of any later day saints.

“So where is your ceremonial magic been taking you,” Rodriguez said. “Anyhow I could help in the cemetery on Route 430?”

“Uhh… I mean… yeah unless you have a cloak and a specialized dagger. I’d have to get you one of those. You’ll be all dressed like a Celtic.”

We laughed.

Rodriguez was a good friend of mine. Much older though. I was in my teen years and he was in his fifties.

“Man, Lexan, you need to grow a beard. Your seventeen years old… yet you look like you’ve graduated college. What happened to your power to manipulate appearance? Funny… its a shame Christians don’t have this kind of power… even heathens can’t do anything we can.”

“Yeah I can tell Rodge. Tell me, why haven’t you been practicing your divinity? You seem a little out of shape to be wrestling with angles and demons….”

“Well I… yeah I mean, sure. Lets say I’m kind of in a predicament.”

“What…?”

I lay my back against the counter.

“Well, down on Armenia Rd. there was a cross fight between me and some other foe. Not sure what to suspect of him, but the “man-woman” was between two others working for her, or he… I don’t know.”

I rest my chin on my thumb and index finger. I realize and hear there are other phenomena of some other cultist group here in Sherman. Our cult is wacky on its own. Though I don’t know what to think of this “he-she man” thing….”

BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ!

‘I heard you! Shut up!’

‘Enough, you asshole!’

WHACK! Pieces of metal and plastic shattered on the wall.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she muttered softly as she fights her every being not to shed a tear. Alas, she lost once again.

It’s been days since she last saw light. The shadows on the walls seemed permanently etched. Her sanctuary once filled with love, lust, and happiness, now wreaks with despair, anguish, and palpable desperation.

‘How did I get here?’ she thought. The same desperate thought she’s been clutching onto for days. Or maybe weeks? Months? Years?

It doesn’t matter. To Emma, time no longer exists with this unrelenting pain.

Once in a while, the light would sneak through the thick, heavy curtains. And Emma would almost succumb to a hint of a smile until it haunts her again.

His resilient hands on her supple breasts. His soft lips caressing her neck and slender sternum. His sturdy chest against her trembling body. His whole palpitating manhood devouring her salacious being. Every ridges of Paul haunt her. Now, it all has to be distant memories. Unshakeable, soul crushing memories.

After what seemed like a lifetime of horizontal desolation, she finally mustered some strength to sit at the edge of her bed. She slowly opened her bulging eyes, and finally saw the mess she was in. Rotting pieces of food in cardboard boxes, sea of crumpled tissue strewn with nauseating piles of laundry, and dismantled pieces of her once chirpy alarm clock scattered all over her dingy floor.

As she moved her gazed from the floor, she noticed the dent on her pristine white wall. She couldn’t help but stare. ‘That dent will be there for a long time,’ she thought.

With a throbbing grunt, Emma slowly stood up and shuffled towards her once chirpy alarm clock. She picked up the pieces and followed the faint light peeking through her bathroom door. As she turned the door knob, more tears rolled down her cheeks. It was excruciating, but this time it was different. The door closed and the room was dark once again.

“His resilient hands on her supple breasts. His soft lips caressing her neck and slender sternum. His sturdy chest against her trembling body. His whole palpitating manhood devouring her salacious being. Every ridges of Paul haunt her. Now, it all has to be distant memories. Unshakeable, soul crushing memories.”

He had left his Gameboy behind. There was nothing to do without it, nothing to do but kick his feet and stare at the dull blank walls. Even annoying Di-Di had lost its colour. He didn’t care what Ma or Papa said. He had to get his Gameboy back.

He pushed into the room. Ah Boy, wait outside ah. Don’t come in! Papa had seemed firm, but he was old enough now to know how to get out of trouble. He would run to Ma, hide behind her legs, maybe tearfully declare that he would run away from home because Papa was so mean. Anyway, Papa seemed so busy with Ah Gong nowadays. He wouldn’t bother to cane a little boy like him.

Where had everyone gone? He couldn’t have been in the corridor for so long. The room that was once packed full of relatives was empty. It was only Ah Gong left in the hospital bed.

Immediately he noticed that the mask over Ah Gong’s nose and mouth was gone. Who had removed it? Without the strange alien-octopus-thing perched on his face, Ah Gong looked like the grandfather he remembered. He moved closer to get a better look.

As he approached the bed he realized the mask was lying on the chair. The inside was stained with a rustlike substance he did not recognize. He held up the mask to the light, and rubbed the stain with a cautious index finger. A powder came off in his hand. With a shiver of disgust he realized it was dried blood.

“Di-Di!” He didn’t know if he was terrified or excited. Where was his brother? Ma had always rushed to daub up any blood in their house – whether from Di-Di falling when learning to ride his bicycle, Di-Di scratching him during one of their many fights, Papa tripping over a wire and later needing stitches in his forehead. He couldn’t pass up this golden opportunity to share with his brother: the chance to investigate blood without an adult present.

The Gameboy lay in the room, forgotten.

Wrote on ‘a group of children discover a dead body’. In case it wasn’t obvious.

“I do like llamas very much,” said Charleston, “In fact, they even have names.” “You are one freaky man, Charleston.” stated Larry

Very well said!!

Jeremy Reynolds had a party one day. He decided it would be a special theme. Deez Nutz, he decided would be a fitting title for a beach party.

*I am only 14 so please, don’t mind me if there are any mistakes. I am still in the process of learning, but I tried really hard*

He could write. He could write and he knew it. No one else knew. He’d never show them his pieces; his collection of fantasies and mysteries. He wanted his friends to know. No, he wanted the world to know. But he was fearful. He was fearful of his stories failing, of him failing.

Abram had written many short stories and novels, all of them printed in manuscript and hidden in a black lock-box under his bed. He was unmarried, for he didn’t need any other love than that of his trusty typewriter and parchment. Writing was frowned upon, in his country. Books were burned. Even the classics. They were all burned in a pile on the streets.

He wouldn’t risk it. He didn’t want that fate for his books. He worked to hard. He spent too much time revising and perfecting the novel; there was no way he would let them die.

Sighing, Abram cracked his knuckles and stood. He yawned and walked over to his bed, where he bent down and grabbed the lock-box from beneath the bed. Abram had kept the key underneath the mattress, in case anyone were to find this box that contained all of his treasured secrets.

He opened the box he hadn’t opened in many years. Removing the pieces of parchment, he sat on floor, listening for the sounds of Nazi vehicles who somehow sensed the unpublished books. But none came. There was only silence, which, to Abram’s surprise, seemed to grow stronger as each second passed.

Before he knew it, Abram had been sitting on his hard floor for hours, thinking. Thinking about what he knew not. He just knew he was thinking.

Abram stood slowly; carefully as if he was trying not to disrupt the dust that covered the dark floor. Walking over to his desk, he left his lock-box open; something he’d never done in the years past. He sat and placed some more parchment into the typewriter and began writing, or typing, you could say. But this time, something was different. Abram wasn’t writing just for fun, he was writing for purpose. This time, he thought, this time, I will be published and my work may fuel the world. And with that, he revealed his talent to the world.

Thank you so much!!

much thanks <3

I’m sorry I’m late but I just wanted to say this story is fantastic! Soon enough this will become a book! I’m from Hawaii and all I do is write and draw all day… Keep up the work and never give up! God bless and aloha!

Yours was the best story that I read on this page…

thank you!!!

Very empowering!!! I was also around your age when I started writing on this site.

Anyways, that short story was so full of meaning. We just happened to be doing an essay on the value of literature in English class so this really fit in nicely for me with that. Lovely! 🙂

oh thank you sooo much!! I greatly appreciate it!!

I enjoyed your story. Thank you for sharing. I especially liked how Abram developed his talent, and despite the fear of having his manuscripts destroyed, he decided to publish his work. Well done and well told.

I have noticed some tiny grammatical mistakes in your Story and correct it for you as I know that this short Story has potential to go very far. Here is the corrected version: He could write. He could write, and he knew it. No one else knew. He’d never show them his pieces; his collection of fantasies and mysteries. He wanted his friends to know. No, he wanted the world to know. But he was fearful. He was fearful of his stories failing, of him failing.

Abram had written many short stories and novels, all of them printed in manuscript and hidden in a black lock-box under his bed. He was unmarried, for he didn’t need any other love than that of his trusty typewriter and parchment. Writing was frowned upon, in his country. Books were burnt. Even the classics. They were all burned in a pile on the streets.

He wouldn’t risk it. He didn’t want that fate for his books. He worked too hard. He spent too much time revising and perfecting the novel; there was no way he would let them die.

He opened the box he hadn’t opened in many years. Removing the pieces of parchment, he sat on the floor, listening for the sounds of Nazi vehicles who somehow sensed the unpublished books. But none came. There was only silence, which, to Abram’s surprise, seemed to grow stronger as each second passed.

Abram stood slowly; carefully as if he was trying not to disrupt the dust that covered the dark floor. Walking over to his desk, he left his lock-box open; something he’d never done in the years past. He sat and placed some more parchment into the typewriter and began writing, or typing, you could say. But this time, something was different. Abram wasn’t writing just for fun, he was writing for a purpose. This time, he thought, this time, I will be published, and my work may fuel the world. And with that, he revealed his talent to the world.

I hope my effort has helped!

Is it OK if I put this on a website I’m making. It will get me money I need to have. You said your only 14, 9 months ago, so you could be 15, well I’m only 12. I need to learn to save up and this will help me. Everything I said here is true, please help me. Also, this is a great story and that is why I chose your to be on my website.

dude thats like literally directly stealing someone’s work for money that only goes to you. Just write your own story instead of stealing someone else’s.

Admit it. I am probably some dude who can’t even make a website, well I am, so don’t worry.

This is the story I am working on now. I wrote it a long time ago, but I am upgrading it now. Changing all the errors, making the vocabulary more sophisticated:

In a valley close to a river where melt-water splashed and where rhododendrons and roses bloomed, where linnets flew with doves above the clustered trees, lay a cave, mostly hidden by the immense pines and the crag. In the cave, out of reach from the sunlight, was a portal. The portal’s frame was the darkest shade of gold, with glowing orange lines carved into it. Glowing flecks of bright blue glow in the darkness of the cave. The portal lay un opened, but the frame still glowed in the shadows of the sombre cave.

In a desert of torturing, immense heat, where scorching light, too blistering to be called sunlight, burns the dehydrated ground, was a tunnel, buried under the sand. In the tunnel there was an ever-growing fortress of burnt leaves and sand with over-boiled water dripping the top. This is all that remained of the desert, nothing could survive in the world above, nothing except from the portal. The fortress was built around the portal; the portal was the darkest shade of black, with red around the rims of the frame.

The sound of water hitting the cold tiles that topped the floor brought a sense of entertainment to the girl sat in the small room covered in a mixture of scars and bruises, awaiting the next blow of the hammer upon her fragile body which shivered in the night air and soft breeze which entered via the half barricaded window. Again and again, almost as if it was a cruel rhythm the metal tool came down, never missing a hit, always landing upon her chest. The storm brewing outside was bad enough without the maniac and his hammer. These are soft blows for a man of his build, she thought, she was certain he intended to make this last all night long. She wanted to struggle, to scream! But the leather bindings made it impossible, who cares anyway, she thought, no one near this basement would care.

The sticky taste of iron filled her mouth, blood. Her body started to shudder, shock. By this point the inmate hitting had dropped the hammer and injected another load of hydrocodone, such a waste of such an effective pain killer. At last she tried to struggle, but even with the drugs numbing the sharp pain shooting trough her body she still couldn’t gain the strength to fuel her ineffective hope of escaping the inmate, after all, even if she did escape, in a mass breakout like this? She could die in a more demanding way.

With my free hand I felt the imperfections, holes, scratches, patches of long since dry blood that covered thee wooden operation table I lay on. How old was it? Thirty years? Forty? Who cares, it had to be old to be in the basement of Twin Rivers Asylum. This psychiatric institution had housed many atrocities, after all, Nazis built this asylum, catered the inmates…put them to work. We are only barely off the English channel; here in Channel Island’s Twin rivers asylum we have many an inmates. Young and old, French and British, they are all welcome here, hell, we have a Swedish inmate, talks to himself all day and night, his names Toby Buchman, we call him Toby-Talkative, how very fitting being his nurse I should die by his hand…

Ouch, be gentler Toby. Even through my drugged up husk of a body I felt that one. I and the staff thought you were joking when you said you were very strong, looks like you weren’t joking…

For such a shrivelled blotch of bones you have surprisingly good and when it comes to instrument of torture, your quite strong, why wouldn’t you be? Killing young women is why your here, Toby, you are one hell of a sociopath, brilliant mind, you’re like a more sadistic Hannibal Lecter minus eating his victims after all, I’m so helpless you could take a couple of bites out of me as I lie here, in the dark basement…

Fun fact, a goldfish’s attention span is three seconds, the average lunar eclipse takes 11 minutes to pass, and a wooden hospital bed from 19th century takes an average of 63 hits to break trough, 54 if you incorporate a body which weighs approximately 130lbs, and guess how much I weigh.

Suddenly I heard the wood buckle under the next hit a glorious hit as well as my straps loosening. Come on Toby, you brilliant old sociopath, you can do it, one more well made hit could send me free. What could go wrong? Toby stood motionless on the spot for a moment later Toby took another blow. I couldn’t breathe. The pain was so intense I felt every cell in my body explode in a chain reaction. The pain was so intense that it felt like a piece of heated iron had been pressed onto my skin. Despite that, a strange sort of calm fell over me: I was dying. I wasn’t coming back from this. Part of me thought, All right. Make it count. I wobbled on one foot about to run to the door, but unfortunately Toby kicked me at the wall. He was so strong, I thought All froze the leaves on the trees didn’t clatter, Toby didn’t stink anymore, Then it was gone all the memories of life returning to me. Then it all went away, my life was It was the end, nothing could stop that now…

I awoke in a bed, in a white room with a marble floor and a silver carpet at the foot of the bed; the wall behind her was a fancy, white wallpaper, decorated to look like a real wall. The wall on the left of the bed and in front of the bed were normal and white, on the right of the bed was a window, now covered, with a beige curtain. In the bed- where the girl lay were multiple cushions, all lay side by side at the top of the bed; the blanket covering her was soft and light. On the sides of the bed were two bed-side cabinets, one with a lamp and the other one with a vase, holding tulips and rhododendrons, on books by her favourite author, many she didn’t recognise. Promptly, she got up noticing there was a small, white table- shaped as a cylinder, with a transparent glass top; also noticing the chair behind it too. The chair was a traditional, leather armchair with four small metal legs holding it up. Then she turned to the door. It was white made, smooth and made out of oak, with a metal handle, a small, square keyhole under it.

As soon as I placed my hand on the door handle, it flew open with a tall, handsome man in the way with bright blue hair shaped as a fire and red eyes. “Welcome, Kayla to Valhalla. Where are you off so fast” he shouted with glee. “I was going out,” Kyla said trembling on the spot. “I didn’t think this is where I should be.” “In this hotel we are all dedicated to make you feel like home, for you will be staying here for the rest of your life. Sorry for my wrong vocabulary, you are already dead. For the rest of the time you need to practice.” “What !?” she yelled. “Are you saying I’m dead” “Yes I am,” the man asked confused.”May I introduce you to your new home”

So the two walked through what seemed to be a endless tour, but eventually came to an end. “And this is the dining room where you have dinner… Here is your breakfast room you can freely come here and invite friends if you are feeling lonely…” “So you are saying this is the place where all people go if they are an extremex and if they died they come here and become an extraextremex” “Yes,” said he.”And also that you are our leader because you can see what specie people are also take away their powers if needed.” “Can I take away the powers of sociopaths or weaken them with my mind beams whatever things.”

“Yes, you can but if you do that you will be weakened too. Also that is a high level trick, you are not high level- no offense” “Offense taken,” said Kayla, with her head down. So they continued on their tour and went walking through all the different floors and introducing Kyla to all the different people and members of staff. On they went about the limits of people and a lot of different stuff. After time, they started her training.

“Focus on me, ” Blaze was explaining to her how to see what specie he was.”Do not think of anything else. Not the colour of my nose, not what room we are in just on me the thoughts and memories of me. Now listen to the sound of my voice. You should be in a universe of darkness; are you?” “Yes I see black in the background and there are flying things in it.” “Yes those are my thoughts.” “I can also see images swirling around” “Those are memories” “I can also feel heat and cold environment when I move around. Are those your emotions” “Yes, the heat is happiness and the cold is anxiety or sadness. Now let’s focus on the specie part. To determine if I’m an Extraextremex, a normal Extremex or even an Oigreog. If I am an Extraextremex then you will not feel motion. If I was an Extremex then you would sense tingling and if I am an Oigreog then you’ll sense shaking. Which one do you sense?” “I sense tingling and shaking so you are one of the Oigreog in the times when Extremex where starting to populate the world. This that means you are an Exremog or an Exoiig” “I am an Exoiig. I have not died yet.” “But how are you here?” “Because I was the first Exoiig alive. I made this place” “But how?” “I used my powers to do it. That is why all the walls are shades of red, orange and yellow.” “Why didn’t you make mine a different colour.” “Because I need to keep track of what specie everyone is. I used Conjuration and Mysticism to make sure that every specie got the same shade of red or whatever.” They blabbered on about what it was like when Oigreog ruled the world, what Black Magic could do and how to control Extraextremex powers…

Kayla went to bed with the thoughts of how the world was made and how it transformed into this planet, when at the start it was billions of monsters – the Oigreog – fought and then somehow transformed into normal people who never fought in their lives. She also didn’t understand how there was only one person who had the power to see what specie one was… She woke with her hair curled up covering her face.

Once she tossed the hair off her face she noticed there was a book on her bed-side cabinet beside the lamp. When she picked it up, she noticed it was a book called “The Arts of Necromancy and Enchantments”. She soon noticed it was the book Blaze used to learn Black Magic. She was filled with a mixture of joy and shock. Then the door flew open. A small brown-haired boy was standing in the way. “Hi,” he said, holding a hand out to shake, “I am Logan, someone from you floor” “Hi,” Kayla said, shaking his hand, “I’m Kayla, an Extraextremex” “Do you want to go and have breakfast” “I guess so” said Kayla.

In the hallway, my neighbours were starting to emerge. Thomas Jefferson Jr looked about my age. He had short curly hair, a lanky frame and a rifle slung over one shoulder. His blue wool coat had brass buttons and chevrons on the sleeve – a U.S. Army Civil War uniform, I guessed. He nodded and smiled. ‘How you doing?’

‘Um, dead, apparently,’ I said. He laughed. ‘Yeah. You’ll get used to it. Call me T.J.’ ‘Kayla,’ I said. ‘Come on.’ Logan pulled me along.

We passed a girl who must’ve been Mallory Keen. She had frizzy red hair, green eyes and a serrated knife, which she was shaking in the face of a six-foot-seven guy outside the door marked X.

‘Again with the pig’s head?’ Mallory Keen spoke in a faint Irish brogue. ‘X, do you think I want to see a severed pig’s head every time I step out of my front door?’

‘I could not eat any more,’ X rumbled. ‘The pig head does not fit in my refrigerator.’ Personally, I would not have antagonized the guy. He was built like a bomb-containment chamber. If you happened to have a live grenade, I was pretty sure you could safely dispose of it simply by asking X to swallow it. His skin was the colour of a shark’s belly, rippling with muscles and stippled with warts. There were so many welts on his face it was hard to tell which one was his nose. We walked past, X and Mallory too busy arguing to pay us any attention.

We entered a small elevator and the doors closed, making the elevator sound. “One question: How does everyone get here.” “People called Collectors fly around the world collecting souls of dead Extremex. I am a Collectors.”

‘And you?’ I asked. ‘How did you become a Collector? Did you die a noble death?’ She laughed. ‘Not yet. I’m still among the living.’ ‘How does that work exactly?’ ‘Well, I live a double life. Tonight, I’ll escort you to dinner. Then I have to rush home and finish my calculus homework.’ ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ ‘I never joke about calculus homework.’ The elevator doors opened. We stepped into a room the size of a concert arena. My mouth dropped. ‘Holy –’ ‘Welcome,’ Logan said, ‘to the Feast Hall of the Slain.’

Rows of long tables, like a stadium, curved downward from the nosebleed section. In the center of the room, instead of a basketball court, a tree rose taller than the Statue of Liberty. Its lowest branches were maybe a hundred feet up. Its canopy spread over the entire hall, scraping against the domed ceiling and sprouting through a massive opening at the top. Above, stars glittered in the night sky.

What’s supposed to be your point? If you are receiving money from something YOU DO NOT OWN then it is obviously theft. YOU DO NOT PUT SOMEONE ELSES WORK ON YOUR OWN WEBSITE AND USE THAT MONEY FOR YOURSELF. That is just pathetic, really. I hope you honestly realise what your doing here, because its seriously stupid.

kys nigga my bitch loves the cocaine nigga gucci gang nigga iwill fuck your bith tongiht nigga, drose out nigga fag nigga

I am very disappointed that there is not 100 of the story idea selection

I’m glad to see Joe’s book, Let’s Write a Short Story! is still availalbe and going strong! I purchased it as soon as it was published, still refer to it quite regularly to remind myself of some important but often over-looked elements of short story. Although my work has been published a number of times, we’re never too experienced to learn and to be reminded of what makes for a great story.

A short story idea: When I was very young, one of my best friends learned she had been adopted. We all know that people really can and do say some incredibly stupid things to children. Because my mother had very blond hair and blue eyes and both my hair and eyes are dark brown, strangers often said to me,”And just whose little girl are you?” I began to wonder whether I, too, was adopted and my parents simply weren’t telling me. What if, as an adult who never questioned your origins, you learned you had been adopted. Conversely, because I myself DO have an adopted child, what if you were told you were adopted but in fact, learned you were not. Write a short story!

here’s my story

Uncle joe was talking to his 5 year old nephew jane about how he’s getting old and how she’s going to have to start doing all the chores in the house joe is a little challenged in his life because he was bullied and doesn’t know how to control his anger. he gets in an argument with jane and Joe felt anger go through his mind his temper over flows and he got so mad he started hitting her. 2 years later she was still helping around as Jane’s face would turn red and she would start throwing tempers and joe would hit her. Over the years her fachel expiration started to change form because of all the hitting. Joe heard a scream of dying devastating noise outside and went to go see what it was he lifted up a bucket and under it was the phone book. Since he had anger issues he decided to call the evil scientist and ask him to fix bullying once and for all after he went to the evil scientist house something went wrong he came back as the demon he unlocked his nephew’s room there she was. she was crying.Jane slowly turned around she was mad crazy. He ordered her to clean the dishes. Since she was so mad crazy she didn’t listen to him and she smacked him across the face the Demons face turned red he felt like someone pierced him with a needle he got so mad that he trapped her in the mirror. She was screaming for help but it just circulated around in the mirror as she was she was trapped there another duplicate appeared it was a boy. He said his name was michael. He was 7 years old the evil demon erased the kids memories and put them in a microchip. Then he put him on the streets. Someone had found him and brought him home and He had been with his new parents for years.He was great at figuring anything out a after a while he found out about his uncle Joe. Since he was so good at researching things he even found directions to his uncle’s house so he decided to go on an adventure to find his uncle joe/the Demon once he found uncle Joe he wasn’t at all happy.

Joe hit Michael and he fell to the ground and fainted .when he was just slightly awake he found a microchip it said Michael’s memories michael picked it up Joe was coming towards him with a knife

Michael woke up right away and put the microchip to his chest if he dies Jane will vanish for ever Joe stabbed Michael in the chest.luckily the microchip blocked the knife from stabbing him and the microchip went into his chest it felt like a rainbow bursting through his skin the light went into his eyes and he got his memories back. He knew everything he knew that his clone was abused and everything he was ready to sacrifice himself for his clone so he ran inside the house and did bloody jane spinning around in circles and said bloody jane bloody jane bloody jane.

He trapped himself in the mirror and Bloody Jane was back Jane through her self out of the house and went to Joe in and punched him on the floor and they had a sword fight and Joe died and bloody Jane turned into the evil bloody demon.

(I like to write with comic characters (Peter Parker, ect.) so here we go… Based on the scars short story idea)

“Where did these come from?” I flinched and hurried to cover my back and arms up. “They’re old… They don’t hurt anymore…” I frowned, remembering the pain from each one of the marks that stained my skin forever. “That’s not what I asked…” I flinched as he slid the thin jacket off my shoulders to get a better look at them. I didn’t meet his eyes as he traced over them. Long and thin lines from knives. Round ones from cigars or cigarettes. Jagged ones from glass. The giant one that curled from just below my neck, all the way around my body before stopping at my right hip. I remembered the pain from each one, the cause of each one, the people who caused each and every one of them… “Pete, It’s a really long story…” We had been dating for about a month and I didn’t want to scare him away with my sob story. “I want to know.” His voice was soft as he had me sit on the bed facing him. I looked at him for a while, trying to sort my thoughts out. We had been friends since we were six, but I had hidden everything from him. He had no clue, and I wish he still wouldn’t… I took a deep breath and began to tell the story. “I’ve kept this from everyone… Please let me tell the whole story before you ask questions or leave me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did…” “Go ahead, I’ll let you finish. But I promise, I won’t leave you.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll see… It began when I was six. My parents weren’t the best as you know… They weren’t home much. Mom went out drinking until she was hammered, Dad went out on “business” calls. He would leave almost every night, coming home with perfume on him. Mom didn’t want to believe it. She was in denial, believed that he still loved her as he did in the past… She would come home smashed and would start sobbing. I tried to help as much as I could, but I didn’t know much. I would let her hug me, and would do my best to comfort her. I learned fast that I needed to take care of her. She would wake up with a hangover and the best I could do was give her one of my favorite juice pouches and a cookie. She would start crying again and tell me that I was such a good girl. Remember when I missed school for a week?” “Yeah, the teacher said you were really sick.” “Dad and mom got into a fight. They were screaming at each other, I didn’t know what to do… I ran away from home, I went to my cousin’s house. I got to stay there the week even though he called mom. When I got home, Dad was gone and mom was passed out on the couch surrounded by empty cans of alcohol. Dad never came back after that, and mom got increasingly depressed. I didn’t know what was happening, Dad wouldn’t come home, mom was sad, I learned how to do things for myself quick because I had to support myself and mom. When I turned seven the nice elderly woman from next door began to teach me how to cook, and clean. I would make her little crafts to sell in her shop as a “payment” for the lessons. Mom barely noticed I was gone for an hour afterschool. She tried to be there for me, she would ask me how my day was, and would constantly give me hugs. I thought life was going good, that everything would be okay. Then when I was eight, everything went downhill…” He squeezed my hand slightly. “Dad came back to the house. He… He said nasty things to mom. I didn’t understand that well back then but as I grew older I understood what he said to her. He.. broke her… She wouldn’t talk anymore, refused to eat, refused to drink… After I came home from the sleepover at your house, I saw her… She, She was hanging from the ceiling, tears running down her face.” Pete looked horrified, pulling me into a hug as I continued. “The elderly woman heard my scream, and rushed over to see me staring at my mother screaming and sobbing. She called the cops, quickly getting her to the ground, checking her pulse. I was taken to the woman’s home, the police announced her dead and found a letter…” “I knew she passed but didn’t know what happened exactly…” Pete’s voice was quiet. “Dad got custody over me. He didn’t like the fact that I looked like mom. He… He did things. He let his ‘friends’ do things. I was nine at the time, and he sold me to his ‘friend’ for the night. Gave him 10 bucks to have his way with me. I tried to fight back but…” Pete looked livid. “I felt sick, the bad thing is that I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb, emotionally and physically. You and the others were the only ones that made me feel something… It continued until I was twelve, I had tried to fight but it was pointless. One day, Dad had enough of it. He slapped me, kicked me, cut me, burned me… He let his ‘friends’ have their way with me. The reason I began to miss more and more school was because of him. I got lucky sometimes and was able to sneak out and see you. He would add a new mark to the collection each time. Then when I was fifteen, he got drunk. He.. Had his way with me, then threatened to kill me if I said anything. Aunt May was the one to notice, the one day I came over she saw a glimpse of them… I confided in her, I didn’t want you to know because you would look at me differently. Or give up on me and that would have killed me… Dad found out when May called the cops on him. He was not happy, the longest scar was his attempt to kill me. The police did a search, and the court plead him guilty. I was in the hospital that month I missed school… My cousin got custody of me, then the accident happened, and I got my abilities. That’s pretty much it… I guess you’ll be leaving then?” I lowered my head, waiting for the rejection. “I told you. I’ll never leave you. I love you too much to do that. I’m glad you told me…” He pulled me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head. “Really?” I teared up a bit. “Really.” He held me as I cried. I really felt loved for once in my life… All I know is that it felt good to get that off my chest. “I don’t care about the marks. Because these scars make you look even more beautiful to me.”

( I have no idea if I did this right and I’m quite sure I might have made few mistakes but it’s worth a try)

Sometimes there are instances when you can see your own life flashing before your eyes and it gets you thinking ” Is this where I want to be? Is this the place I still want to be in another 5 years?”

I had a minor problem, a fault perhaps. I was surely and indefinitely addicted to Alcohol. Don’t get me wrong it was not that type of addiction where one would kill for a bottle of beer or something far more stronger that leaves that burning sensation down your throat and a sting behind your eyelids. It was a addiction where when I didn’t know what to do-how to react- specifically, I turned to my new found companion. It didn’t shout back at me, didn’t call me names, didn’t say that I was a worthless mistake.

Infact it welcomed me with open arms and I embraced the feeling of not caring. Sure it was a great weight off my shoulders just to forget everything for a moment and just…… be. But then I’d wake up regretting every single thing I did the night before. Trust me that plus having a blasting headache ? not the best hangover tonic.

Now here I am in front of my car trying to think yet failing since I can’t even think straight to even start thinking about thinking.

That’s when I feel it. something poking at the back of my head. A shadow looming behind me.

”Leave the keys on the ground and turn away without a second glance and you won’t get hurt.” His vice was rough and he reeked of old garbage and dried up voldka.

There I see it again. All The time I’ve spent wasting away drinking without actually doing what my 21 year old self was supposed to be doing.

I took my parents money for granted and had the time of my life. A Audi sports car, expensive designer clothes, latest IPhone, all the girls I could ever imagine. And yet I felt hollow. An empty nutshell disguised as a perfect fruit.

This is the moment I change that. This is the moment the fight back. I’m not going to whole away anymore. I won’t be that worthless mistake any more. I am Rane Alexander after all and I won’t let a label define me. I’m going to get past this hazy fog and I’ll see the horizon again.

So I turned back and grabbed the man by his arm and sling him over hard sending the gun skidding across the dim lit parking lot.

” Not today” I breathed.

Nice…well done. I thought the ending was empowering…

Standing Still

I would like to tell you a story about a girl. There was nothing special about her at all-she was simply a girl. Every day she lived in pain. She lived in her shared room feeling so alone. Everything was white: the walls, the beds, the furniture. There was no creativity in the room, no evidence of the girl’s individuality-no posters, no color, nothing. Although, she did have one orange throw pillow that she didn’t want nor like. She hated the bland, bland room. Until she was forced to live in this room she saw white as a symbol of purity, harmony, and peace. Now she saw white as a toxic color, something that wasn’t even really a color at all, something that was devoid of emotion. Every day the girl took a shower in an attempt to wash away her skin that had been tainted by the room, but that simple act of cleansing soon became tiresome and it eventually stopped working. The girl felt dirty, impure, and alone. She was afraid-so afraid. She was afraid of being alone in her shared room in a shared house of seven people. She was afraid of not being heard, of not being able to speak. She didn’t know how she felt and she didn’t know how to express it. One day, the girl stepped into her shower, and stared at the white walls and the white floors and the white curtain and the whiteness of it all and she felt numb. She felt as if the blandness of her room and of her life had finally driven her emotionless. She stood there, feeling every singular drop of water sting her skin as if she was on fire and she felt nothing. Nothing-the absence of anything-shouldn’t feel as if the world was being torn apart around her, it shouldn’t feel as though everyone and everything were pitted against her, and yet this is the way the girl felt. She forgot that she was in the shower, where she was supposed to feel refreshed and cleansed, and she forgot herself. She leaned her head against the shower wall she wondered why the walls looked as if they were in so much pain. It was as if the very walls around her were feeling just as she felt. She stood and she thought. She wondered how long she would be able to stand there, with her head resting on a cold, hard surface. She stood in the shower too long, she stood there until the hot water turned cold and even past that. She stood there until she felt as though the pain building up inside her couldn’t take it any longer. And then, she moved. She placed one hand against the tile wall and she pushed, testing her strength-the wall remained still. She thought about how meaningless her life was and how she couldn’t possibly do anything important or memorable and she felt selfish. She felt selfish for wanting to be important. She felt as though all of her thoughts were not her own and that society had simply conditioned her to think them and she felt nothing. She felt trapped. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, no friends to run to, nothing. She felt alone. Her worst fear was unfolding as she began to panic. She thrashed in the shower as she desperately gasped for air, feeling nothing. Maybe she should stop gasping for air, maybe she should just give up. But no, she had to keep fighting. She turned and she turned the dreaded water off and it stopped. Just like that, it stopped, and she felt nothing yet again. She stood there, water dripping down her body, and she thought. She thought about how many mistakes she made and how many lies she’d told. She regretted everything. She wanted to stop feeling. She wanted to undo all of her wrongdoings and she wished she could fix the people she’d broken. She wished so desperately to fix herself. She stopped, she told herself to snap out of it and she felt nothing. She turned and she pulled back the bland, white curtain. She slowly took a step and then another. She stood right outside the shower and let herself feel the cold, rigid air on her skin because feeling something was better than nothing, right? She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself to shield her small, fragile body from the cold. She stood there outside of the shower, and she felt vulnerable. She felt neglected. She felt as if nobody cared at all. She truly thought that she had no one. She sat down on the cold tile bathroom floor and she felt defeated. She felt as if she could no longer go one. She stared at the water dripping from the faucet and she thought about how easy it would be to corrupt these white walls with her own blood just as they had tainted her with pain and sorrow and misery. She sat for what felt like hours and she thought. She realized that she couldn’t do what she so desperately wanted to do because she was just too afraid. She thought about spilling her own blood, just to leave at least a little bit of herself in that lonely room that would never truly be hers. She came so close-oh so close-to giving up, but then she remembered. She remembered a person and how that person made her feel. She remembered a smile like no other. She remembered arms that held her so tight and close that she actually felt safe. She remembered a face, a gorgeous face, that lit up the moment its eyes layed on her. She remembered feeling loved, so she stood up, turned to the door, walked into the white room, and the girl lived on to see another day, another sunrise, and another beautiful moment.

And I have a secret-that girl, that terrible terrible girl, is me.

I have a blog and have uploaded 190 articles and short stories averaging 1000-1400 words. 70% were political. My writing is purely a hobby although I did send one story to a publisher and they wrote that they liked it but being an unknown author I would be required to contribute £2,500 towards the cost of publishing this children’s picture book which was 800 words long. Is this normal?.

So far I have had 43,000 hits worldwide on my blog I am now writing fiction for girls aged between 12-17 and children’s picture books..

I have a blog and have uploaded 190 articles and short stories averaging 1000-1400 words. 70% were political. My writing is purely a hobby although I did send one story to a publisher and they wrote that they liked it but being an unknown author I would be required to contribute £2,500 towards the cost of publishing this children’s picture book which was 800 words long.

IS THIS NORMAL?.

Is this normal ?

I will get up off the chair and head for the PC, I will type two lines. At this stage they are nothing but the release of vague reflections triggered by my imagination. I may not use them but they have to escape the clutter and disarray of my thoughts and be planted like a seedling. Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice.

The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at……….. ” I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

I will get up off the chair and head for the PC, I will type two lines. At this stage they are nothing but the release of vague reflections triggered by my imagination. I may not use them but they have to escape the clutter and disarray of my thoughts and be planted like a seedling.

Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice.

The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at the Denham College” I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice. The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at the Denham College.

I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

Here a poem…

Roses are red Violets are blue I love you Do you love me?

Times I sit and think of you In hope as you think of me Your smile just makes me melt As I know my makes you melt.

I know you think I’m silly But you love me for it.

I hope this puts a smile on your face As it does my as I wrote it.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and the sun is warm just like my heart that beats for you. You make me smile more then the beautiful flowers that bloom under the warmth of spring and you put a sparkle in my eyes more then the stars shine in the night sky. You light my path better then a full moon in a clear night sky.

You are beautiful and I love you too.

It lights up my heart to see the words I write to you. I never thought I would ever meet someone like you. I have told you things happen for a reason and so they do. I want spend every waking moment to show you how I feel. My heart belongs to the moat amazing woman I know. Baby, that is you. I know here lately I’ve been hard to love but I promise things will get better. You are my rock and sanitary you keep me going when I think I can’t. I love u with all my heart, mind, body and soul. You’re my FOREVER. Just one more thing to say.

Don’t give up on me because I will make all your dreams come true in one way or another. I will love you until I take my last breath. Just keep on loving me for I know I am you’re Forever Love…..

That is the biggest poem I’ve ever seen

Merp, I like this

Beware: Bad language. These are two dispicible people being told honestly.

————-

Stew bent down and grabbed the dead man’s feet. “Because they’re faggots, that’s why. Why you care?”

Phil bent over and grabbed the dead man’s shoulders. “I just don’t think we should generalize people like that. That’s all.”

“One. Two. Three. Up.” They lifted the dead man off the pavement and shuffled over to the trunk of their Volkswagen. “I don’t give a fuck what you don’t think, they’re still dick-suckers. On three again. One. Two. Three.” They tossed the man into the trunk. Stew grabbed the dead man’s legs and contorted them in such a way that his fat ass fit inside, then he tossed a sheet over the body and slammed the trunk shut. “Queers, Phil. God ain’t got no love for a man sucking off another man.”

Phil was wiping his hands with a kerchief. When he was done he stuffed it back in his back pocket. The left one. “Maybe God doesn’t care, neither? Maybe we’re the ones, as a society, making a bigger deal out of it than it really is.”

Stew licked his thumb and rubbed it on his left tail light, smearing a dot of blood and making it worse. “Gimme’ a rag, would ya’?” Phil fetched a rag out of the backseat of the VW and tossed it to Stew. He spit on the rag and then wiped the taillight raw. “It’s in the fuckin’ bible, man. God said a man and a woman, not a man and a man. Now, don’t get me wrong, I got no problem with women dating women. I mean, come on, it’s sexy as hell. But two guys wagging their weiner’s in each other’s faces? Fucking gross.”

Phil stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it, closing his eyes and inhaling. He opened his eyes and exhaled. A kid on a bike rode by, tossing a newspaper wrapped in a blue bag on the edge of the driveway. Phil watched the boy as he pedaled away, dumping papers on every driveway down the street. “Maybe the bible does say that,” he said, turning back to Stew. “Why’s it our business, though? Long as they keep it between them, how’s it hurting you?”

“It’s the principle of the motherfuckin’ thing,” Stew said, tossing the rag to Phil.

Phil sidestepped out of the way and let the rag fall to the ground. “Fuck off, dude. I don’t want his fucking blood on my new suit.”

“Well at least put it in the trash.” Stew wiped his hands down his pants, at which Phil cringed, then walked over and opened the driver side door. “We gotta meet Don in half an hour and we’re runnin’ late. Let’s go.”

“Stop for a taco?” Phil asked, bending over and grabbing the rag between two fingers.

“Sure. I’m starving.”

I Tried This is what i have so far…:

Isra Sonnet liked the quiet. Which was why she wished she were back home with her parents back in California, her cousin Eric was snoring very loud on the top bunk of the beds. She tried to block out the noise, but he seemed to be getting louder, and louder with each snort. Having enough of this, Isra grabbed her pillow and climbed up with it.

Holding steady onto the ledge of the bed, she smacked him with it. Hard.

Waking up with a start Eric looked at Isra annoyed.

“What is wrong with you? I was trying to sleep!” He flings the pillow on by his face,to the floor.

“You’re loud enough to wake the dead. Stop snoring like an old man.”

“If you’re so mad about it go sleep somewhere else…” Eric says drifting back to sleep, too tired to argue.

Sighing Isra climbed back down to her bunk bed. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Eric would start snoring again. Gathering her pillow from the floor and the blanket from her bed, she walked out of the room closing the door behind her.

Now, it was quite dark in the house. Though, Isra knew her way around the house from memory. She was careful to go down the stairs, and not to make too much noise to wake Eric’s parents.

In the living room Isra made herself comfortable on one of the couches. Placing her pillow down and wrapping herself in the warmth of her blanket comforted her. She sighed in relief. Now she could finally sleep.

I really like it. It’s very detailed in my opinion. I’ve read a book like that called… “Wish”. I want to publish all six of my books when I get older. I’M ONLY NINE so maybe when i’m in my 20’s

dont worry about your age. you can be just as good as any other writer. i am only twelve and i am almost finished writing my book that i am hoping to publish. go for your dreams, dont let your age stop you.

I’m 16 and have published my first book, best experience of my life, I am very close to publishing my 2nd book and sooo excited! Don’t worry about your age, the younger the better I say! You go girl and good luck with your writing career. You are a very gifted young lady! Xx

If you want to publish your books, why not now? There isn’t a law against young authors. I’m not much older than you, but my book is being published this year. All you need is the money to publish–that’s the REAL hard part for a younger writer.

Hey, don’t worry, I’m eleven and I deeply enjoy writing, and I’m looking to get a book published very soon. There’s no law forbading youngsters from getting books published… In fact, becoming a young author is one of the VERY BEST things you could do to benefit you in the future.

Yea I’m 11 and I’m gonna start writing stories on an app called Wattpad

It’s a great way to get feed back and to start sharing your stories.

The temperature was searing. Tara squinted her eyes as wavy lines of heat danced in the distance. Michael shuffled out of the taxi behind her and bent to drop 30 pesos in the driver’s expectant hand. “Why did we have to come all the way to Acapulco just to get our teeth cleaned?” Tara whined like a child dreading the dentist. “We’re not just getting our teeth cleaned”, Michael explained, “I need 4 crowns, you could use some fillings, and dental work is so much cheaper in Mexico. Plus, it’ll be like a vacation as soon as we’re finished. I have 3 days of the most romantic stuff planned for us, just wait.” Tara smiled at the thought of what Michael’s idea of “romantic stuff” could be. It was 9:15 am Thursday, if all went to plan, they would be partying on the beach Friday night. The shop they had been dropped off in front of was a modest, stucco covered building with one dark window bearing a small sign that read “Dentista”. They were 45 minutes early for their appointments but hopefully that meant they would be done sooner. 30 minutes and 16 pages of paperwork later, they were ushered down a brightly lit corridor to a room containing an x-ray machine. Once finished there, they were led to adjoining rooms. Each contained nothing more than a large, green dental chair, procedure light, and metal rolling cart filled with shiny, sharp instruments. “The dentist will be right in,” said the plump assistant in a thick Mexican accent. Since the office saw so many tourists, the staff all spoke in English, and this reassured Tara that it wasn’t so bad after all. She was looking up at a poster of an aquarium filled with fish that was taped to the ceiling when the dentist strode in. He was tall, about 6 feet, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a brilliantly white smile. While peering at her x-ray films, he rattled off a list of work that she needed, and she agreed, not really understanding just wanting to get it over with. The plump assistant appeared and placed a mask over Tara’s nose and mouth as she crooned, “To make you comfortable!” The last thing she noticed before she lost consciousness was the poodle print scrubs the assistant was wearing. Tara woke up being shaken by Michael. “Come on let’s go, I’ve been finished for an hour.” She groggily sat up and placed her hand to her warm, swollen cheek. The assistant was back, handing Michael prescriptions for pain killers and giving him instructions not to eat for 2 hours. They stepped outside into the bright sun and began walking slowly towards the nearest intersection where they could hail a cab. After a short taxi ride they arrived at Hotel Catedral, a quaint, boutique inn on the outskirts of the city. The room was cramped, but clean, and after a quick shower, they both laid down and quickly fell asleep. The next 2 days were spent drinking, lounging on the beach, and making love. Tara awoke late Sunday morning and started packing. While she would miss relaxing on the beach, she couldn’t wait to get back home to her apartment. Her stomach had been bothering her on and off throughout the trip and she thought it may have been the water she was drinking. They took a taxi to the airport and the trip home was uneventful except for a few severe stomach pains Tara had on the flight. She took a few more pain pills and they eased up enough for her to take a nap. They barely had time to walk through the door when Tara felt a sudden urge and bolted to the bathroom. “Are you okay?” Michael called from the hall. “Fine, just gimme a minute!” Tara snapped, and Michael went in to the living room and laid down on the couch. When Tara had finished in the bathroom, she stood up and saw something strange in the toilet. It looked like what appeared to be several small balloons floating in the water. “What the…” Tara stared confused, and called for Michael to come into the bathroom. He popped his head in the door and looked at her questioningly. She pointed to the toilet and he shook his head as if to say, “I’m not going in there.” Tara walked to the sink and grabbed a pair of tweezers sitting near the mirror. When she reached towards the toilet, Michael yelped, “What are you doing?!” “Shush, hold on!” she said. She pulled back the tweezers and pinched in the end was one of the balloons. She carried it to the sink and quickly rinsed it off. Michael came closer and said, “That came out of you?” ‘Yeah, gimme something to cut it open.” He produced his pocket knife and she proceeded to make a small slice down the center of the balloon. A white powdery substance spilled from the cut. “Oh my god, it looks like drugs! Tara exclaimed. “How did this get inside me? It must have been the dentist! I told you we shouldn’t have went down there for dental work! What are we gonna do?” “Maybe we should go to the emergency room and get checked out? Michael suggested. “Ok but we should just say our stomachs are hurting and not say anything about the drugs. We don’t want them thinking it’s ours and taking us to jail.” After spending 4 hours in the ER, a CAT scan and bloodwork, the couple was assured that they were in perfect health and probably ate something bad. They headed home, relieved there were no more foreign objects in their bodies but worried about what to do about the dentist. “He can’t get away with this, said Tara excitedly, he probably does this to tourists all the time!” “But if we call the police and tell them our story, they might think we’re involved somehow,” said Michael. They arrived back at their small Austin apartment and decided to eat some dinner and think the matter over some more without rushing to alert the police. After all they were safe at home and had no plans on leaving the country any time soon. Maybe they could just put this whole thing behind them like a bad dream. A crazy story to tell the grandkids. Once the dishes for dinner had been washed and Tara was settling down on the sofa next to Michael, a knock sounded at the door. “Who could that be? “Michael asked. He got up, slowly walked to the door, and peeped through the eyehole. On the other side of the door were 3 well-dressed Latino men. The one standing closest to door was dressed in black pants and jacket with a tucked-in turquoise shirt. He spoke first. “We know you’re in there and you have something that belongs to our boss.”

I wrote two stories so far Murderous Twins (Mystery) and Pregnant at 18 (Drama n Romance) total words for both 27000

THANK YOU FOR THIS. I LOVE TO WRITE AND I NEEDED INSPIRATION!!!

My First Story.. I woke up late that morning, too excited to sleep at first and then I don’t remember when I dozed off to sleep early morning. Bright sunlight hit my half open eyes and I jumped off from the bed. It was 8:00 am already.

“Mama … why didn’t you wake me up? Has he left already?” Mother smiled “Its Sunday! Didn’t felt like waking you up from deep sleep you were in, besides you must have been dreaming, there was beautiful smile on your face. And don’t worry Papa won’t go without you.”

I was super relived and ran to hall, where my dad was ready, waiting for me. “We are going to City, right?” He simply nodded and smiled “Now get ready else we will miss the bus”

I ran to bathroom for shower and within seconds was out and in front of mirror combing my hairs. “Dry them properly, your hairs are wet, you’ll catch cold”

But here I was holding my dad’s hand and pulling him out of the door. We took bus from the bus stop and were on our way to City.

Finally the day had arrived when I was going to get my first Bicycle. It all started when my dad promised to get me Bicycle if I score good marks in final exam next year. All my friends had their own bicycle. Even my juniors had their own.

I patiently waited for one year to get my dream bike.

On the result day I was very nervous. When there was announcement that I stood first in 5th C, I jumped up in air and almost snatched my report card from our class Teachers hands.

I was telling everybody on my way back that I was going to get bicycle, since I stood first in class. After reaching home I told mom about the result and she was very happy. Then dad came back from work in the evening, he was very happy to hear about my results and patted on my back.

“So you are going to get me Bicycle” I said with glimmer in my eyes. “Let’s see” he simply said taking off his shoes

I was almost broken in tears to hear those words. He had not said no but neither did he say yes. I broke down “this is not fair, you promised”.

Next day, mom broke the news to me that finally I am going to get my Bike this Sunday.

Squeezing sound of halting break of bus brought me back to present. “We have reached, Lets go” said dad.

We reached the Big Bicycle store in Gol market. There were so many bikes, I just couldn’t take my eyes off. I picked the one with Marron color. Salesman explained the features to me. I looked at dad expectantly, he nodded and I hugged him.

Dad went in to meet the shop manager, I waited outside to see my bike being assembled by the worker. I saw dad having conversation with the shop owner. I don’t know what was wrong but dad came out.

“Let’s go now we will come next week, and take this Bike home” dad said with his fingers in my hairs. I couldn’t believe my ears. After waiting for almost a year I am getting my bike and now he is saying to wait for one more week.

I threw his hand away in disgust and ran away to hug my bike and started crying. Dad tried to convince me that He had assumed the Price of Bicycle to be lot less. And now he doesn’t have enough cash to buy this bike.

But I refused to budge down. I was so much carried away by anger, I couldn’t see the nervous face of my father. It must have been really awkward for him to face this situation.

“Okay. Let me see what can be done!” he went in. I waited outside partly sobbing and partly smiling.

Few moments later dad came out smiling. I knew he had bought the bike and we were going to be taking it home today. This was happiest day of my life.

It took me few years to understand that my dad had sold his ring that day to fulfill my wish!

This is what I’ve got so far:

Capt. Lee asked for interrogation volunteers. The Interrogation Rooms were full and there weren’t enough interrogators. Lt. Jones volunteered. She told him thee was a suspect in Interrogation room D. Should be easy — a straight-up homicide. Just tape the confession.

Entering IR D, he saw an inconspicuous middle-aged man. Inconspicuous? Maybe 100 years ago.

Lt. Jones introduced himself and sat down. He sat down and said he was there to get the man’s side of the story. Then he turned on the recorder. The man looked at him with amusement. “Do you really want my confession” he asked. Jones said he needed the man’s name and address first. “All right. I am Daniel Alan James, address 132321 Atlantic Avenue, Plot D3.”

Jones looked up sharply. “That’s a cemetery. Your real address please.” I get the nuts, he thought.

“I am not ‘pulling your leg’ as you so quaintly think. That is my address.”

“As to my confession. In 1869 in Palm Beach, I burgled May Palmer’s house I got a sackful of jewelry. I also hacked off her head. Sternly he looked at Jones. “You kept that back. He acted like that fact should have been publusged,, like he wanted credit for it.

“In 1920, in Miami Beach, I attended a speakeasy. I abducted a somewhat plump girl, Cynthia Handel, and eventually disposed her of in the Dismal Swamp.” Chuckling, he continued. You could say the alligators had a fine meal that night.

In 1936, Cleveland, Ohio. I presume you’ve heard of the Torso Murders there? The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run? It was never solved. Poor Eliot Ness — he wanted so badly to be Mayor of Cleveland and not just Safety Director. That case would have given him the Mayor’s office. I denied him that.””I

Above the gables of the orphanage roof, a tremulous, gentle sound began to keen. It began quietly, as oh so fragile a thing. I held my breath where I had awakened in my bed to keep from drowning it out- the sound of a human singing through a violin.

I knew exactly who it was that sang. She had come in just that day, eyes wide, mouth closed, and a violin case clutched to her chest like it was the only thing she had left in the world. I was older than her and so in a different dormitory, but still the sound found its way, sorrowfully, lovingly, through the still night air.

The sound of it made me want to cry, as it stirred in me a pain I’d long ago learned to shove away, the origin of which was the only thing that me and the little virtuoso child shared. It unfurled itself deep within me, reaching out for the sound as it grew, grew louder and more powerful as the beginning upset turned to something more violent, something filled with righteous indignation at what had happened to her… to… to me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I curled into my pillow as I fought the onslaught of emotions. The anger, the injustice, the harrowing *grief*. It all slashed and dove and resonated through the air- through my soul. I curled around the reopened wound, feeling the unreleased cry of pain inside of me. But the tears still fell. They were like rain.

Suddenly the vibrancy in the tone fell flat. The last ringing note was undulating through the air, twisting with fading passion, as a quieter, stiller strain took its place. Dispirited and exhausted, the muted notes struggled to find me, and I imagined them getting lost. It was both a relief and a loss as I felt the raw emotions drain away. It felt… hollow. It was like how I usually felt only much, much worse, the sheer weight of it making it a pain all its own, although it signified the absence of it. It was a rock I couldn’t push off my chest, or a vacuum inside of me. It *hurt*.

Still, my eyes dried as I listened to the dispassionate, lilting notes. They bumped into each other with pattern but no passion. The lack of colour in it compared to everything else the little violin girl had played almost made me want to cry again- for her this time, instead of me. I wanted to comfort her. To tell her that she could find a family here again… even if it wasn’t the same.

But then- then something magical happened. I heard something in a note shift. Just ever so slightly, regaining some of its lost fullness. My heart jumped against my rib cage at it, like a baby bird too eager to be out of the nest. The sound broadened and deepened, spinning and growing to an unimaginable size and intensity, filled with such thought and memory as one can only know inside themselves. I couldn’t imagine that something of such monumental size was coming from such a tiny person and her instrument- no, her partner. Her friend. It had to be her friend to join her in all this.

The graceful creature grew and grew on when I thought it could grow more. Time had lost all meaning to me as it tapered and streamlined itself into something lighter- losing its weight and despair- but not its memory. That stayed. I could feel it within me, too- the warmth that was spreading through the song. It touched at my fingers and toes, the tip of my nose, and the center of my belly. I let out a breath as the weight- the vacuum, whatever it was- released, no longer afraid of it or drowning out the soaring melody that cozied into the corners of the resting place of me and so many others that had experienced what this other child was experiencing right now.

But I knew, as the music carried on through the night, a peaceful balance between love and light and sorrow, that she was going to be just fine. We were all going to be just fine.

This inspired me so i tried it came up with this so far

Things have been difficult lately. Even breathing seems to take a lot of effort. But grief often shuts people down. And everything seems to blur out. You must be wondering what broke me? Nothing just the same old heartbreak that broke souls in every time period.

That night I made my way Aden’s house. We had been dating for almost four years. He had asked me to marry him a week ago and I had to ask my parents if they accepted they’re daughter to get married at 21. To my surprise my parents had said yes and I was on my way to blow Aden’s mind with the amazing news. I rang his doorbell several times even though I knew where they key to the door was kept but manners were still important. After fifteen minutes of standing out the door my mind started exploding with thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking about. Aden’s car was still parked in the garage which meant that he was still home. I rushed to get the keys from under a plant pot and opened the door. Aden’s house was a mess but Aden was a clean freak. I made my way to Aden’s room and gently opened the door to see my whole world crashing in front of me.

Aden lay in bed with another women pressed to his side as they slept. No words, no tears just an apology. Just two words “ I’m sorry “ and I ran down the stairs, across the street and away from the person I had given my everything.

You see every person leaves a mark behind. But Aden , Aden left behind the deepest scars.

(please don’t judge, I’m only 12. And btw I’m a girl. I’m using my dad’s account)

It’s dark. My own shadows drown me. This is nothing new to me though, I’m not shocked or scared. Just lonely. Nothing to look forward to I’ll thing myself sitting and think, hoping. I don’t know how long this lasts, seconds, minutes, hours. I can’t sense the time passing, I don’t fully understand it. I don’t know how I got here or when I’ll leave. My life feels like it has no meaning. But yet, somehow I feel like I’m waiting for something, this longing for something to happen. But at this moment in time…I’m not really sure. I must have had more than this life, I must have lived in something different, color, happiness, friends, family….love…maybe, or is that me dreaming?

Have I lost my mind completely now. Maybe I’m not even here, In this darkness. Am I just mad? Why am I even asking…I’ll never get an answer. Sitting here hoping dreaming will do me no good! I must fight back. I’m not sure what I’m fighting for but if I do have a motive to fight then it must be worth it. Without thinking I lunge into the dark clouds. Fighting, not with any weapons but just by my longing for whatever is outside this lonely cage. The chains of my fear and uncertainty tug at my arms pulling me back but using all my force I shake them off and continue forward through the endless darkness…This place must end. There must be an ending for me, more than this dark realm. I jump forward, ready to scream as I hit the floor but I don’t have to. I didn’t fall…Am I..floating?

No, I don’t feel like I’m standing. I feel something on my hand but I can’t see what it is or even move to shake it off. Then I suddenly realize. The thought that I’ll no longer be lonely, this thing I feel, it’s a person. These thoughts, my feelings they allow me to take control. I slowly open my eyes. It all shoots my at once colour…light! I’m lying down on a bed, a hospital bed. My memories come soaring back. I look over to my right hand and see the lady holding it, in shock, but smiling brightly. It’s my mother! And in what seems like the longest time ever…I smile.

Clark stood at the window and watch as the first snow started to fall. He thought back to when he was a little boy and how he loved to go outside and play in the snow. The snowmen him and his sister would build, the snowball fights him and his friends would have. Then his smile changed to a sad face. He remember the last first snow fall that happen when he was a kid. That was the last time he was happy about seeing the snow. Clark’s father Ernest was at the local convenience store, when two mask men came in to rob the place. One of the robbers told Ernest to give him his wallet. He did but a long noise from the back of the store in scared the robber that he jumped and the gun he had pointed at Clark’s father went off and shot him in the chest.

Clark was home in the bed, but he jumped up out of his sleep, he felt that something was wrong. He got out the bed and went looking for his mother. When he got to the end of the hall he saw his mother at the door talking to some police. She turned when she heard the floor Creek. ” Clark honey, what are you doing up”? His mother asked with blood soaking red eyes . ” mother is everything alright? ” with every step he took closer to his mother he knew that what ever reason the police was at his house it wasn’t good. Every since that Dreadful night Clark, the night his dad was killed, he has hated the snow. It always seems to remind him of that night. It’s like all the good times he had in the snow was replace by the death of his dad, his hero, the man he wanted to grow up and be. They never did find the guys that robbed that convenience store.

Conceited Conflict

Simon did not die…

The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee had been enough to persuade him to walk straight into the little beach-side shack without as much as a second thought. He had made a mental note to thank Danny–his colleague and friend–for suggesting the place for a quick getaway.

People close to Simon knew that he savored these small pleasures of life: a peaceful evening relaxing at the beach, the blushing horizon as the sun set for the day, the scents of the tropical sea, the areca nut trees swaying to the music of the breeze, the waves at the shallow end lightly caressing his feet, the warm texture of the sand slipping away beneath his toes, children running around flying colorful kites… cocoa-rich dark chocolates, and fresh coffee.

And why not? After all, he thought, what was life without these? Nothing but a stressful grind, it was. To fight the distressing official battles day in and day out. To struggle to defeat the unethical schemes of the back-stabbing lot who lurked among colleagues and friends. To come back home to the nagging demands of a materialistic spouse. All that did nothing good for the soul.

It was late evening when Simon had walked toward the shack. When he got closer, he had noticed two men standing engulfed by the dark shadows behind the shack. Although he could not discern their features, and they were speaking only in whispers, their body language had betrayed the fact that they had been exchanging an agitated conversation.

As Simon was about to enter the shack, one of the men thrust a wad of money into the other’s hand. The other man briefly regarded the bundle before stuffing it into his trouser pocket.

A drug deal, likely–Simon had thought–or some other such shady business. How could these people come to such spectacular and peaceful places and engage in such disreputable and squalid acts? What a disgusting lot!

He had shaken his head to clear his thoughts, and inhaled deeply as he entered the shack. Freshly brewed coffee! He had smiled as he sat at a small, round, plastic table in a corner. All other concerns would have to wait for half an hour, at least.

Outside, unknown to Simon, the deal had been concluded. The men had followed up by exchanging a small vial of some sort. Then one of them had raised the hood of his jacket over his head and walked away swiftly without turning back, with his hands in his pockets. The other man had vanished into the darker shadows behind the shack.

The next afternoon…

Although–when it concerned professional life–Danny lacked severely in the department of moral and ethical values, he was regarded in their circles as a gem when it concerned friendship. He had rushed to the hospital at once when Simon’s wife had called. Dysentery–she had told him, repeating the doctor’s diagnosis–perhaps acute food poisoning. Very severe symptoms. Quite unbearable. Must have been something he ate yesterday.

Danny had stayed on at the hospital with Simon’s wife to lend her moral and emotional support. He wanted to make sure–he had said–that she got all the help she needed; he wanted to make sure that Simon recovered all right.

The third evening…

Simon rested motionless on a bed at St Sebastian Hospital. Motionless. Still. He wasn’t even breathing. He was finally free of all suffering.

Epilogue 1…

Normally, convincing a chemist and obtaining the required substance might have been the biggest challenge. On this occasion, however, a well-maintained friendship with a pharmaceutical assistant had proved quite rewarding.

The rest was simple to plan and execute. Simple did not mean without risk, but in this case the desired reward would be sufficient compensation for the risk.

The dosage would be just right. The doctor would have only the patient’s symptoms to go on, which would be easily mistaken for those of common diseases such as food poisoning or dysentery.

It would all be over even before anyone suspected foul play. Even if other signs did manifest afterwards, there was no incriminating evidence.

Epilogue 2…

Simon had felt the first signs of fatigue when he was almost half way back home from his getaway spot. He had believed that the nausea was caused by travel-sickness. Later that night his condition had become worse, and next morning he had tried home remedies for diarrhea. By afternoon, he had started discharging blood, and had to be hospitalized immediately.

Danny had stood by his bed in the hospital, looking in his weak eyes, holding his hand reassuringly. Behind those heavy eyelids, in those weak eyes about to close, Danny had seen a faint spark of realization. The reality of the deal he had witnessed behind the coffee shack had dawned on Simon. I wish you understood, my friend–Danny had thought–that it was nothing personal, that everything is fair in professional rivalry. In any case, it was too late now. There was no turning back.

Don’t strain yourself trying to talk–Danny had said–Just close your eyes, let go and relax.

— End —

(I’m only 12 so don’t judge me, I tried :D)

I’m alone. I’m surrounded by darkness. I’m lonely, I have no-one except silence to keep me company. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here…Minutes, hours….days? They mean nothing to me, I don’t know how time passes and why it matters. I’m too close to giving up. Surely my life must mean something. I can’t have been made to just be nothing, to exist only feeling, loneliness and fear. The fear of being forgotten, by this world, by myself. If I’m not already.

There must be meaning for me, something bugger, better. It’s all I want, all I ever dream about. A life with meaning, color, happiness…family. But that’s just a dream. That can’t be real, I have no memories out of this place why would I be suddenly be gifted such happiness. Is this it? I am going mad? Have I been here so long just lost my mind? No. That can’t be. I can’t give up, I must try….try escape this realm of darkness. I stand up, shaking slightly. No, I must be strong! I run forward, not sure where I’m going. Not sure if this place even ends.

I start hearing voices, they’re speaking to me… “stay…strong…everything’s going to be ok” I hear the voice saying. It was comforting, gentle and kind sounded. It sounds familiar….I run faster, using all of strength. I race through the darkness, wind smacking my face until I come to what looks like the edge. It was a drop, so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. Without thinking, using all my desire, the want to be somewhere with meaning and happiness I lunge forward and jump.

I…I didn’t fall. I’m alive, I think. I don’t feel like I’m standing. Wait, am I floating? No, don’t be silly. I’m…lying. I feel something touch my hand but I don’t have strength to even shake it off. I can’t see anything…Then suddenly reality hits me. I slowly open my eyes…It all hits me at once: Color, sound, people. I look over to my right hand to see who was holding it. She was crying but smiling at the same time. It was mother. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I smiled.

“I’m borrowing one of your geese.”

Asta jumped in her seat by the fireplace, woken from her accidental nap. She whirled in her seet to see Jeppa, the slightly unhinged neighbour, filling the doorframe. He looked like any regular farmer, brown coveralls and pipe dangling from the side of his mouth, but sported a permanent wide-eyed stare that made the children (and everyone else) wary of him. Asta had half a mind to go back to sleep and let Jeppa be Jeppa, but curiousity got the best of her.

“Pardon?” She asked, slowly getting up, her arthritis crackling in her knees. “You’re borrowing what?”

“I’m borrowing one of your geese,” He repeated, unblinking. Then he turned on the spot, as if the conversation was over and done with.

“But why?” Asta exclaimed, hopping after him on stiff legs into the front yard. Three of her large, snowy geese were drowsily waddling through the hole in her white fence as Jeppa marched over and seized one of them by the neck. The other two hurried into a nearby hedgerow, abandoning their brother to fate. Jeppa stood there for a moment and admired the view over Asta’s fields, completely obvious to the furious flapping and hissing of the goose.

“What are you doing? Let go of him!” Asta cried, but Jeppa remained blissfully ignorant to the chaos he created.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Jeppa sighed happily, still unblinking. Then, remembering why he was strangling a goose, he heaved it up under one arm and took off towards his own rickety cottage a few hundred yards down the gravel road.

“Wait!” Asta cried, limping after him. When she finally caught up to him he was crawling up a worn ladder propped against his roof, hissing goose tucked into his armpit as if it was nothing more than the daily newspaper.

Finding her best old-angry-crone voice, she howled; “Jeppa! Get down this instant! What on earth are you doing with Herman?”

This seemed to reach the decision centre in Jeppa’s head, and he stopped on the topmost rung. He stared at the wobbly chimney for a moment, as if pondering its existence, before replying. “I can’t afford a chimney sweep,” he commented simply. Then, with both hands, he heaved the goose up in one fluent motion and dumped it into the chimney. The hissing and flapping increased in volume, projected into the open air by the narrow chimney, until it became unbearable to listen to. Then it stopped. The goose must have fallen into his fireplace.

Asta’s mouth fell open. She sat down on her bum like a baffled toddler.

“Are you alright there? You look like you saw a ghost!” Jeppa chuckled obliviously as he descended from the roof and moved to let the goose out of his kitchen. The moment the door opened, a great, fluffy black thing scuttled out and down the road, hisses and quacks flying about it like the soot covering it.

“That,” Asta said, her voice quivering, “was my prized competition goose, Herman.”

Jeppa finally seemed to realise the extent of his actions. Wringing his hands he inched towards the door, hoping to use it for protection when she exploded, which she was bound to do.

“Isn’t… isn’t there a competition for black geese, perhaps?” Jeppa asked, hopefully unblinking.

Most short story ideas I have are too big write in just one sitting. The first one I wrote took months. It’s why I can’t write flash fiction.

I’m trying to write Flash Fiction. I love the challenge. It’s amazing how you can cut out redundant word from each editing. Try it, Sebastian. It’s good practice.

Okay, here goes: Persephone, Persephone Akeldama. She was a beautiful girl, slender waist, flowing blonde locks, petite figure. This quiet girl was often referred to by her fellow students as the “perfect doll”, due to her stunning looks and the love she received from the teachers. In a the darker half of this world, her nickname was not much different. The flawless puppet, she was called. Flawless because of her swift assassinations, and puppet because of her emotionless features. No one in school knew her profession, and no one in the dark world knew her real age, or even what she looked like. She was a complete mystery to both sides, only this was known about her: She is a prodigy. Of course, “Prodigy” meaning different things in either sides of the world. There was a large gap between prodigy killer and prodigy student. Not many assassins are born into their jobs, Persephone being an exception. At three, she was already trained to fight, and at the early age of twelve, she was already a well known assassin. due to her quick learning, her parents payed even more attention to her, punishing her whenever her actions did not fit into the range of perfection, training her more than any twelve year old should ever have to endure. And of course, making her kill. One by one, Persephone’s emotions died, every person she killed, every order she received. She carried them out with swift and deadly accuracy, losing all her innocence. Her purity was lost long ago.

So she found nothing wrong with killing her parents.

Persephone never loved anyone, because she was a killing machine, exactly how her parents had designed her. Her mothers last words: I’m so proud. Her fathers? :I’ve trained you well. A now orphaned Persephone felt no remorse, no guilt, no grief. Only a small pang of loneliness.

And that was the last emotion she would ever feel.

Ummmm, I got the juices flowing, just need my writing to flow……in the right direction.

So I combined all 10 of the “general ideas” into one premise. I think this is more the premise of a collection now… Oh well. Here’s the premise (or the rough draft)

As a child, Kell, a painting prodigy, discovers her parents’ dead bodies, leaving her emotionally scarred. Later in life, she clings to her boyfriends for moral support, which leads to many failed relationships. Her Fiance and colleague breaks up with her because he needs to spend more time on his work, even though it crushes both of them. Kell doesn’t look when she’s walking down the street, sobbing, and she bumps into her rich soulmate, Neil. They have a whirlwind romance, which ends up with their marriage. On their honeymoon, though, Kell’s mother’s ghost confronts her and warns her to delay the journey. Kell and Neil go anyways. A hurricane strikes, and the couple is stranded with a phycopath who just so happen to be Kell’s parents’ murderer. The couple doesn’t make it out alive.

I know that’s pretty dark, especially for a 17-year-old. It’s also not that great. But hey, I hope it gave you an idea or two! Happy writing!

You should really think about turning this into a novel! You’ve got quite the imagination.

The last laugh Kate Bester

“What? Oh heavens no! When?” Faye dragged the pink sweatband back from her forehead and shook her shoulder length blonde hair off her neck. She had just returned from the gym when the house phone rang.

“…sometime last night, peacefully. She had to go sometime, Faye.” Debbie’s longsuffering voice was irritating.

Faye sighed and shifted the weight from one shapely leg to the other. She crossed one ankle over the other and stared at her Reebok trainers. She bit her tongue before she could blurt out what came into her mind – why now? She had a very special and important occasion coming up and serious shopping to do!

“Mom was nearly eighty, you know Faye, but death is always unexpected, I know,” Debbie went on. Was she imagining it or was there a touch of accusation in Debbie’s voice? Deborah, her older sister, had never married. Instead, she stayed with Mom after Dad passed on ten years ago and took charge of the rambling old house in George. Come to think of it, when Debbie gave up nursing, moving in with Mom was the natural thing to do.

Faye had to muster all the self-control that she could to sound genuine and concerned. It was Mother after all…

“When is the funeral, then? Do you want me to come and help you with the arrangements?” she kept her voice low and even in case Debbie thought she was serious about the offer to help.

“No thanks, Faye, everything is fine. Mom had everything in place as usual. It will be a cremation of course…”

Debbie’s voice trailed off and Faye could just about suppress the groan that escaped from her chest before she said goodbye to her sister. She sank down in the closest, huge, overstuffed chair after she had put down the receiver. Of course. That is Mother. Well, was she corrected herself. Nothing ordinary or conventional. A cremation no less, so that all her old hippie friends could attend in their colourful rags and long hair and chant and blow their flutes and shake their tambourines. Faye had to admit to herself that a cremation at least would be better than embalmment. Her mother was quite capable of having them roll her in the scales of the boophone bulb like the Khoisan did with their dead.

Faye groaned again. She must be in shock otherwise why wasn’t she crying. Crying? No, she’d done enough crying after the second divorce in eight years. The last one was particularly messy but this time she stuck to her guns and got the house and a stiff alimony. Not that it’s about the money, which is never enough anyway, but one has to keep up appearances. She had spent a fortune on refurbishing the gazebo next to the pool. Oh gosh yes, and she must still pay for the embroidered voile curtains around the patio. And for the plant containers and cane furniture from Bali…

Faye sighed as she levered her challenged limbs from the chair. She will have a warm shower and then make her calls. Damn! Now she will have to drive all the way to George. She smiled. Yes, she will have to. Because of Mother’s pendant. She had to have it. Must be worth a small fortune by now…

That pendant was given to her mother by a very grateful Indian businessman. Mother had met him on a plane to Mumbai all those years ago when she travelled to India to see for herself what mysteries lay behind the lotus curtain. She ended up in his luxurious home and taught the whole family to speak English while she enjoyed every facet of that exquisite culture. If memory doesn’t fail her, the pendant has a top quality eleven carat flawless ruby, enhanced by… a shiver of delight passed through Faye’s body despite the warm gush of water.

At the garage to fill up and prepare the vehicle for the trip, she remembered how bored she was on weekends as a child. They travelled endless dusty roads, slept in tents, either sweating or freezing. Her botanist parents would be off in the veld , ooohing or aaahing, clicking their tongues and cameras. Deborah would be whooping somewhere in a shallow river. In her tent, her feet against the anchor pole, Faye swore she would never live this way. She would have money and everything it could buy. These bunny-hugging weirdo’s – her family – may enjoy the outdoors but she despised the smell of citronella candles, morning coffee and tinned food. Not to mention the squatting behind a bush when nature called. Ugh!

At nine o’clock the next morning, Faye was over the Overberg Pass and heading for Caledon. She would stop for tea at the Blue Crane and buy some of her mother’s favourite dried herbs. Yes, some buchu and lavender and rosemary. She’ll keep them on her lap during the cremation service and speeches to soothe her mind. Afterwards she will let them join her mother’s body to nirvana…

It was exactly twenty past one when she saw the huge pine trees and the red brick house behind it. The garden was a botanist’s dream. Like her mother exactly – colourful, mysterious, exciting and completely unusual. Faye’s eyes followed the garden path up to the porch. Handfuls of laurel tied with raffia or beads or leather thongs garnished the pathway from the gate to the porch and around the open door’s frame where fairy lights twinkled.

She opened the car door and slid off the seat. The manicured feet in the Blahnik sandals stepped together neatly on the tarmac as she automatically pressed the remote lock. Gingerly she approached the garden path and as daintily as possible made her way to the house.

Then it hit her. This wasn’t a welcome for her. The laurel symbolized Apollo’s way to remember his Daphne! Daphne didn’t want to marry Apollo and begged her father, Perenaeus, to hide her. He promptly turned her into a laurel tree. From then on Apollo worshipped the tree, hugged it, spoke to it and let all heroes and kings wear a laurel wreath on the head as adornment. This was for Mother.

Suddenly, there was her sister. Oh heavens, clad in a flowing caftan, pearls, beads, feathers and leather thong sandals, she could’ve been Mother!

Quickly Faye went over and folded her sister in her arms. While her sister was yoga-breathing against her shoulder, she took in the room behind. She smiled to herself . Ostrich feather boas were draped over the window frames, door frames and thrown over the backs of chairs. Huge black and white photographs of ostriches in all poses adorned the walls. Ostrich eggs and paraphernalia were displayed everywhere. This was a shrine to the ostrich as Nieuw-Bethesda was to the owl…

She let go of Debbie and cleared her throat. She took a deep breath, “Debs, what are we going to do with all this stuff ?” she hoped her chicanery would go undetected. Back in her mind there was an image of Mother’s ostrich leather handbags, shoes and purses she had collected before it became export posh. Her heart went on a gallop from excitement and anticipation.

At last they were alone. They cleared away the last few cups and plates. In the kitchen, Faye poured two large tumblers of Merlot for her and her sister.

“Sis, if you’re up to it, we can go through Mom’s things and decide what to do about some of it.”

“Of course, my dear.” Faye gulped.

Then the pendant was in the palm of her hand. This was a testing moment. She wanted to hang it around her neck immediately but thought it would seem callous. She let the heavy gold chain slide sensuously through her fingers while the ruby’s red eye winked at her.

“You have it, Faye, it’s too ostentatious for me. Mom also never wore it for that reason.”

“And these, Sis.” Debbie was on all fours in front of a deep drawer. She was pulling out ostrich leather gloves in every colour, handbags, clutch bags, more boas. They lay on the Kelim carpet like offerings to a queen. Faye stared and stared. “Oh yes!” her mind sang.

After breakfast the next day, Faye took her leave of Debbie who promised to visit as soon as everything was tied up and settled. When she was passing Mossel Bay, she started to relax and fingered the pendant at her throat. A warm glow filled her and she stretched to see it again in the rear mirror. It was an exquisite piece! She still felt surprised at how nonchalant Debbie was.

She decided to stop for refreshments outside Swellendam. She enjoyed stretching her legs in the shade of the old trees and watching the goats, chickens and ostriches they kept there for entertainment. She parked in the shade of a huge oak tree and went to the restaurant. She carried her fruit juice over to the enclosure on the lawn. A billy goat came towards her. Behind him a young ostrich craned its neck. A sheep, two lambs and a kid trotted up. Faye leaned forward.

She shrieked, jumped back and feverishly fumbling at her throat, she saw it

Ostriches also like jewellery.

I have not written a very long piece. It a quite short story. So…here it is…

Sydney woke up with a start, as beads of sweat adorned her furrowed brows. Next to her was her twin sister, Tanya, sleeping peaceful as Sydney had been a couple of moments before. She looked around as if searching for something or someone. Sydney almost dismissed the episode and went back to sleep when she heard it again, this time, even evident. The sound that had woken her up from her slumber. The sound that made her shiver and was even vexing than the sound of nails on chalkboard.

And then, it stopped. She looked around her for the source of what she heard. She decided to get some fresh air and walked out of the room she shared with her twin.

As she walked to the porch, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong but she knew something was. She leaned in to get a closer look at her reflection when something hit her head and she fainted. When she regained her consciousness, she looked around her. She was in the porch and it was dawn. She went back into her house when she glanced at the mirror again. She could see her mother, her sister and her father. They all looked around as if searching for someone. What she couldn’t understand was why she couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror. Then, realization struck her like a ton of bricks. She was in the other side. Of the mirror.

Then the ending credits rolled in. Though it was just a trailer, it was well shot. Everyone couldn’t wait to see the full movie. We congratulated our friend, Mills, who had shot the film and went to hang out at her place.

Wonderful ideas. Thanks for inspiration.

*I’ve been wanting to write for a long time but never really got the push until right now. Sorry if it’s bad, it’s my first short and I’m 14* “One, two, three. Perfect, now I can go…” I quietly say to myself. I have something called Pure-O. Some people think that it’s worse than “normal OCD”. The others think that it’s completely unreal and it’s made up. What people don’t know about me is that I have Pure-O and it’s completely real and my life revolves around it. I make sure that people don’t find out about it because I am considered “ popular and high-status” where I live. “ Happy, good thoughts. Nothing bad.” I think to myself. “They won’t find out….hopefully. I am Claire Williams who has the best makeup and the straightest hair. Not the Crazy Williams girl that broke down in front of everyone because her presentation wasn’t how she planned it.” I think. Then the flashbacks swoop in and fill my brain. “Hi my name is Claire Williams and I am doing my presentation on the Economic Downfall of 2008…” I pause and look around. I see people snicker and talking. The teacher is just looking at me and gesturing for me to continue. I get scared and forget everything that I worked so hard to memorize. “Umm. I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t finish.” I tell my Economics teacher. When I try to move and collect everything, I can’t move. “No no no no no this can’t be happening. I can’t be having a panic attack at school.” I think to myself. I feel tears well up into my eyes. They slowly fall down my face and I taste the warm salty fluid. I suddenly tense up and can’t breath. Because no one knows about my condition, no one can help me. “Look! Williams is going crazy! Crazy Williams.” I hear people snicker from the back and the attack gets worse. I hear something new in my flashback…. It sounds almost as a ringing. I realize the bell is ringing for the students to get to class. I come back to reality and hope for the best on my first day of Senior year. I mean after all, it’s just school. Nothing bad could happen right?

PEN-082a 694w Anne Frank, Bella and Me by Helen Kudatsky

At nine, I bought my mom, Bella, a birthday gift on June 12th, a magenta lipstick for 19c. I was so proud. First present I ever purchased. She made me return it; It was too extravagant, and besides, she said, “every day is my birthday.” I cried. I knew her secret though. although a proper Jewish woman, sometimes she longed to be a gypsy.

Now, 60 years later, I’m reading “The Diary of a Young Girl” by Anne Frank, here in the home where I live. Though nursed, I’m often blue that I can’t dance or paint anymore. But I love to read and write, and my friend, Julie, the librarian, kindly brought me Anne’s book, which I am now devouring.

Anne was an eloquent writer, describing her schoolmates and boyfriends. She began the diary at 13, disclosing her first period, having a special secret and becoming a woman. I too began to menstruate at 13, pondering the mystery. It’s horrid to imagine eight people in 1944, crammed into the Secret Annexe, handling eating, sleeping, hygiene and trying to stay alive, while whispering and tiptoeing to avoid discovery by the Gestapo.

To maintain normalcy, the adults set up a plan. The children continued their studies: Dutch, French, English, history, geography and art. Although Anne liked most subjects, she found algebra notably loathsome. I’m in that club too.

Her people have become my friends and family: Anne Frank herself, Edith, her Mummy, Otto, her beloved father, Margot, her sister, and the others hiding with them: the VanDaans, their son, Peter who was first, her friend, then later, her crush and confidant, Dr. Albert Dussel, the dentist and Moortjie, the cat. Four of Otto’s devoted employees provided food, supplies and world news, which kept them alive and boosted their morale.

After the war, Miep, a helper, found Anne’s diary in the demolished remains and rubble of the annexe. She gave it to Otto, the sole survivor of the group. He was stunned by Anne’s maturity and the breadth of her feelings. The Diary has been published in 67 languages, portrayed on stage and screen, and is considered one of the most moving accounts of the Holocaust.

For those of us beholding atrocity, Anne Frank is a beacon: humorous, inquisitive, forgiving, cheerful. Sometimes moody, though, she was nicknamed “the incurable chatterbox.” as she’d quarrel with others in the Secret Annexe they occupied for their 25 months in hiding.

My mom, Bella, shared a birthday with Anne Frank, June 12th, but didn’t know of it until years after Anne’s death. Bella lived to be 95. She loved reading as much as Anne did, and she wrote poetry and stories, but didn‘t start until middle-age. Anne, 15, died in March 1945, just two weeks before the war’s end, when she would have been liberated. In two years of hiding, Anne was devoted to writing in the diary, at times prosaic, sometimes distraught, frequently terrifying, but often funny, spiritual and uplifting.

If the war had only ended sooner, I imagine the writing that Anne could have produced and I envision Bella meeting her. Bella, born in 1913, Anne in 1929, 16 years her junior, they could have been aunt and niece; I see them sharing a Shabbat dinner, singing a Hanukah song; I picture them speaking one of their languages. They believed in the same things. Finally, I dream of them proudly sharing their writings, a mystery, a story of love and longing, a poem, and of course, on June 12th, their mutual birthday.

I dream of them walking hand in hand, pale wrinkled fingers holding a smooth teenaged palm. They come to a table set before them, on it matzoh brei with applesauce, a plate of potato latkes with sour cream. There are apples and honey, wine and rugalech. Bella and Anne eat heartily and shout for joy, no longer whispering or tiptoeing, no longer afraid to be Jewish women writers, no longer afraid at all.

PEN-082a-Anne Frank, Bella and Me.wps by Helen Kudatsky w:09/03/17 ei 09/19/17 694 wds 08 mn 99 Park St.#104 Brookline,MA 02446 C-617-939-3387 e-m: [email protected]

My story plot is of the fantasy/adventure type.

In the fictional town of Surron, Colorado (which is surrounded by high mountainsides from every angle, a tragedy occurs on September 5, 1963. Six-year old Robert “Bert” Aruson witnesses his drunken, abusive father murder his mother with a broken beer bottle. Advancing on him, the father sleeps on another discarded bottle and trips, impaling himself on the bottle with which he killed his wife. Robert runs off into the forest to escape his father to look of help, unaware of his father’s death. With his parents living far back into the woods, he ends becoming lost and spending the night in the forest. A mother bear, Dewa, with two cubs of her own, the boy Gemape and girl Biha, discover the young boy and adopt him into their family, christening him with the new name Nuun. Ten years later in 1973, Nuun has led a happy existence with his loving and supportive new family, having even made new friends like the crow Hai and the mouse Naeene. He even prevented unnecessary violence between his family and a wolf pack led by Dande and Gupa. Any hunters that come into the forest have their weapons stolen and permanently disposed of in the night by Nuun. By this time, Nuun and his actions have become something of an urban legend in Surron. Back in that town, the mayor Aaron Burdon (who resides upon a hill overlooking the town) runs the town, though he views it with contempt due to one incident. His younger brother, Reagan, was beaten by thugs hoping to steal money off of his rich person, leaving him with brain damage. Despite this, the townspeople started treating him and his brother differently afterwards, cruelly even. This has caused his hatred to ferment over the years until he comes up with a plan to destroy the town’s population with explosives at the upcoming July 4 picnic. His wealth and power make the workers unable to resist him, as they will become jobless should he imprisoned. “Nuun” comes across one of Burdon’s worksites and almost steals workers lunchbox, but is chased away. News soon spreads through the town and Nuun finds his happy life in danger of being shattered once again unless he can have assistance from friends both human and animal.

Nikita This is the story of me, Nikita, an orphaned girl, who didn’t know anything about her family. I was kept in the orphanage with a bunch of other girls. Ms.Keeper, the owner of the orphanage doesn’t tell anyone anything about themselves or their family. I didn’t know anything about myself, but everyone knew that in Ms.Keepers room there was a filing cabinet with documents of the real stories of our lives. Nobody ever dared to go in there though. Ms.Keeper looked like she was somewhere in the 30’s, she had grey hair, bags under her brown eyes, a slim body and a huge pimple on her long nose. She was not married. I have brown hair, brown eyes, freckles and a healthy, slim body.

I always thought of running away. I felt like I was in that orphanage forever. I remember growing up in there since I was a child and now that I’m 17 years old, I’m still here, hoping to find my family. But that, I thought was too unrealistic. I was sitting in an orphanage, hoping to find my family. No, I wanted to DO something to find my family. The only thing that held me back was Ms.Keeper and the thought that I really had no family. Ms.Keeper was always afraid of one of the girls running away, that’s why she made some workers put a stronger fence around the orphanage property. Ms.Keeper was also afraid of talking to the government. I thought so because the government will shut down her orphanage. One time, I overheard Ms.Keeper talking on the phone to the government and they said that it was illegal to not show the orphans their identity and who they are, but Ms.Keeper ignored them and kept talking about something else. Also, at 18 years old, you are free to leave the orphanage and become independent. I just turned 17. No one else was my age except another girl, aged 14 and all the rest were smaller than her. There was once a girl named Gabby who was the only person who was older than me. Just last year, she turned 18 and was supposed to go. On her birthday, Ms.Keeper made an announcement at the last moment that Gabby was leaving right now and is right by the door. Every girl ran out to give her hugs and goodbyes. Ms.Keeper didn’t even move. She didn’t even say bye. It was so cruel of her. We didn’t have a birthday cake with Gabby because Ms.Keeper threw her out the door on her birthday!

Everyday, Ms.Keeper lets us go outside for one hour, three times a day. We ate mostly sandwiches and drank water and sometimes juice. We also had some snacks, which were mostly fruits. We did school during the day too but this wasn’t real school. Ms.Keeper taught us everything. Ms.Keeper also bought us a TV, which was in the dining room. We mostly had everything we needed, except a family.

One day, when Ms.Keeper let us go outside, I was lying on the grass by myself at the farthest point from the orphanage. Then all of a sudden I heard someone coming. I looked up but saw no one. When I turned around, I saw a boy, looked like he was 15. He had brown hair, blue eyes and was tall. He said “hi” to me and I said “hi” back. We talked to each other for awhile until Ms.Keeper called us in. I really hoped that Ms.Keeper didn’t see me talk to that boy because she would punish me.

For the next three days, I talked to that boy over the fence every recess. He told me about his life and it really surprised me. He said he had a house as big as the whole orphanage (the orphanage is as big as a hotel). He said he had his mom and dad living with him, that he has money, any kind of drink, and lots of junk food. He played video games everyday and watched TV and also he quit school. His mom and dad don’t care about what he does as long as he’s home by midnight! When he told me this, I started thinking, is every life out there like his? What is everyone’s else’s life like? I couldn’t sleep that night or any other night after that day.

Soon, we became friends and he asked if the orphanage was boring. I didn’t even know what to say because it was alright living in the orphanage but compared to his life, it was nothing. I didn’t say anything and he asked if I wanted to run away to his house. I, of course, was surprised and didn’t say anything for awhile but then I said I would think about it. Ms.Keeper called us inside, and I don’t know why but she never caught me talking to him. Ms.Keeper usually stands by the door of the orphanage, looking into the field of how we are playing. I was farthest away from her so maybe she doesn’t see so well.

After those days, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking of running away. But how was I supposed to run away? If I got caught, I would be punished and I would have to be a slave to everyone, washing dishes, sweeping, and cleaning. Besides, I couldn’t run away because we all slept in rooms with four people to each room. Our room was the farthest away from the exit. I would have to tip-toe (at night?!?) through the whole orphanage just to get to the exit. No, I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. But that boy kept assuring me that everything will be okay.

I talked it over with the boy and I decided to run away with him at night, at 11pm because he had to be home by 12pm. By 8pm, all the girls in the orphanage would be sleeping, but Ms.Keeper stays up till 10pm, listening to classical music in her favourite rocking chair. As not to wake Ms.Keeper, the boy suggested that he would come to my window at night and I would climb over. Our room was on the lowest level – level one- so it was the closest to the ground. It was supposed to happen in two days from then. I was very nervous and scared, and I kept looking at Ms.Keeper if she had any suspicions, but it didn’t look like it.

It was the day of the run. I packed all my stuff, which wasn’t really much. I put all my clothes in my pockets (it fit perfectly). I was wide awake that night, listening till Ms.Keeper turned off her classical music and went to bed. It was perfectly silent. You could hear every single breath of the girls. My tummy had a trillion butterflies in it and I couldn’t stop my heavy breathing. At 11pm, there was a quiet knock at my window and I knocked back. That was our signal for letting each other know we were ready. I then looked at everyone in the room. They were sound asleep. I opened the window and it’s super squeaky. I waited a moment to see if anyone woke up, but no one moved. I climbed over the window to the boy. I closed the window with a loud squeak and started running with the boy to wherever my feet let me go. It was a dark night and only the half-lit moon was our source of light. The boy led me through streets and streets of houses until we came to a huge house. It was so pretty. It looked like the orphanage but it had no spiderwebs. It was clean and super nice. It looked like they were rich to have all those diamond stuff on the door.

They boy opened the door and the light hurt my eyes. It was so bright in there, so big. The stairs were curved, like I only saw in fairy tales, and there was his mom standing in the doorway. She first smiled, but when she saw me, she made a confused face and came closer. I was so scared. What would his mom do? Did he tell his mom about me? My brain threw me a thousand questions to answer of which I didn’t know the answers for. The lady came closer and asked the boy slowly who I was. He told his mom that I was a friend from the orphanage. His mom got angry, her face started to turn red and she started to talk louder. She started saying that I’m filthy and that she doesn’t want to see me ever again and to get out off this house. I looked at the boy. He started to cry. I tear went down his cheek. He begged his mom to let her stay for the night but his mom didn’t budge. The boy’s mom shut the door on me and I was outside in the cold.

All of this was for nothing. This meet we had. All the recesses we talked, all the nights I didn’t sleep, and I couldn’t go back to the orphanage now. I was alone. I didn’t even know where to go. I got off the boys lawn and I sat down on the sidewalk, crying and I realized I didn’t even know what the boy’s name was! Suddenly, I heard a door open. I looked back to see if it was the boy’s mom. No, it wasn’t. I looked around and saw that the boy’s neighbor has opened the door and was calling me. The person at the door was a grandma. She told me to come in. I stood up and came inside. She told me that she heard the neighbors talking loudly so she went to see what the commotion was about. She asked me if I wanted to eat but I refused. She sent me to bed, not knowing anything about me. She was so kind to me. She sent me upstairs where I had my own room. I fell asleep very fast, and I slept till lunch the next day. I forgot all about the orphanage and went downstairs to meet my hero. She was making breakfast for me. We sat down at the table and she told me her name ( Grandma Laura ) and I told her all about my life. Every single thing. When I came to the part about the orphanage, her eyes widened.

Grandma Laura told me that many many years ago, she was the owner of the orphanage! The government fired her because they thought she wasn’t suitable for the job. When she went away, she made photocopies of the documents of the girls and kept them because the girls were so precious to her that she couldn’t just leave them. Grandma Laura stood up and went upstairs to go get them. When she came back down, she had a whole ton of documents! She found one by the name of Nikita.

That morning changed my life. She let me read my own document. It figures out that my real mom died while having me. My dad was still alive. My dad’s name was Walter Eggons. The grandma’s eyes widened when I told her the name of my dad. She told me that that was her husband! So Grandma Laura was my mom? She didn’t die? But Grandma told me the whole story. My dad, Walter, first married a lady named Agnes, and they had a baby named Nikita ( that was me) and during childbirth, Agnes died, but I lived. Later, my dad could no longer care after me so he dropped me off at the orphanage when I was 1 year’s old. For my dad, that was a hard decision. He had to work but he couldn’t leave me at home and there was no one to look after me. After my dad’s wife died, he married Laura. Laura was sitting in front of me, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She then told me the saddest news- my dad died of cancer a couple months ago. I started choking back sobs, and then tears. Grandma Laura was the only family I had. She was my stepmother.

It has been seven years since that happened and right now I am sitting with tears in my eyes, telling you this. I live with my stepmom and my husband, Jeffrey. Turns out that after that day, I lived with my stepmom for a couple months but then the boy’s mom found out that I was still in this neighborhood. The boy was so happy to hear that, and he told me his name- Jeffrey Jones. We soon joined our friendship together and a couple months later, we were married. Also,he wasn’t 15 years old, like I thought, he was 17.

-Written by Nikita Eggons-Jones

I hope you like this so far tell me what to improve on.

Gunnvor is the daugter of a powerful samurai but that is only thing that they have in common. Her father is a ruthless man who fights for war, on the other hand Gunnvor fights for humanity, no one can see her true colors because they want to believe she wants bloodshed as well like her father. She hates their thoughts, imprisoned in her fathers hand, the only way to escape, is for some one, like her, to save her in the outside.

As she swoon her sword with grace she sliced the broom like heads off. Her father and mother were observing her progress as a warrior, when she was do she went to her parents and bowed. She left leaving them behind a cold chill settled on them, the mother knew why the father ignored. Gunnvor loved to walk in the town down below her house, all the people were Good-hearted and kind in every way. She sometimes is jealous of the children for having such free lives. But she does not listen to her selfish conscience, she walked across the flower bridge as a gentle men suddenly bumped into her. “Oh sorry about that I didn’t see you,” Gunnvor quickly got up embarrassed for fall. She looked up and saw man that was strong but kind, she then noticed that he didn’t recognized him, he look like he was from another country. She then suddenly pulled her sword pointed it near his neck. the man was taken aback, he looked shocked and then said ” Yes did I say some thing offensive.”

“your not from here are you,” She moved a little closer, her sword started to dig into skin. “Yea I’m just traveling, I came from the neighboring kingdom, I thought they were in good terms…..right?” He backed away a little from the sword cutting his neck. Gunnvor then lowered her sword slowly, The man rubbed his neck just to find that it is bleeding “by the way what is your name,” she sheathed her sword in it’s case. “My name is gunnvor,” He quickly whipped his head to her “What the, Gunnvor, the daugter of the samurai.”

“Yes.” she turned and started to walk away and stop slightly turned her head ” And you,”

“Uh my name is Cota.” he said then Gunnvor walked away, when she arrived at home she swept past her father to her bed room. That night she could not stop thinking of Cota, she thought how strange he was dressed and the way he looked. The next how ever her father again trained gunnvor, the train this time was diffrent, he was pushing her to far.

Many days have past and Gunnvor noticed that Cota was spotted many times near her house. Then when she training with her father which was basically torture, Cota came up to her father ” You will stop hurting her,” He said slowly and manically. However he was not moved “My wife has convinced you to protect her,”

“No I came In my own accord.” The father then spun and grabbed his sword and pointed to cota. “Well then can fight me,”

“We”l see,” cota grabbed his sword and the two fought, they fought for a few hours and the father was vanquished. Cota then went to Gunnvor and asked her hand in marriage.

Nikita This is the story of me, Nikita, an orphaned girl, who didn’t know anything about her family. I was kept in the orphanage with a bunch of other girls. Ms.Keeper, the owner of the orphanage doesn’t tell anyone anything about themselves or their family. I didn’t know anything about myself, but everyone knew that in Ms.Keepers room there was a filing cabinet with documents of the real stories of our lives. Nobody ever dared to go in there though. Ms.Keeper looked like she was somewhere in the 30’s, she had grey hair, bags under her brown eyes, a slim body and a huge pimple on her long nose. She was not married. I have brown hair, brown eyes, freckles and a healthy, slim body. I always thought of running away. I felt like I was in that orphanage forever. I remember growing up in there since I was a child and now that I’m 17 years old, I’m still here, hoping to find my family. But that, I thought was too unrealistic. I was sitting in an orphanage, hoping to find my family. No, I wanted to DO something to find my family. The only thing that held me back was Ms.Keeper and the thought that I really had no family. Ms.Keeper was always afraid of one of the girls running away, that’s why she made some workers put a stronger fence around the orphanage property. Ms.Keeper was also afraid of talking to the government. I thought so because the government will shut down her orphanage. One time, I overheard Ms.Keeper talking on the phone to the government and they said that it was illegal to not show the orphans their identity and who they are, but Ms.Keeper ignored them and kept talking about something else. Also, at 18 years old, you are free to leave the orphanage and become independent. I just turned 17. No one else was my age except another girl, aged 14 and all the rest were smaller than her. There was once a girl named Gabby who was the only person who was older than me. Just last year, she turned 18 and was supposed to go. On her birthday, Ms.Keeper made an announcement at the last moment that Gabby was leaving right now and is right by the door. Every girl ran out to give her hugs and goodbyes. Ms.Keeper didn’t even move. She didn’t even say bye. It was so cruel of her. We didn’t have a birthday cake with Gabby because Ms.Keeper threw her out the door on her birthday! Everyday, Ms.Keeper lets us go outside for one hour, three times a day. We ate mostly sandwiches and drank water and sometimes juice. We also had some snacks, which were mostly fruits. We did school during the day too but this wasn’t real school. Ms.Keeper taught us everything. Ms.Keeper also bought us a TV, which was in the dining room. We mostly had everything we needed, except a family. One day, when Ms.Keeper let us go outside, I was lying on the grass by myself at the farthest point from the orphanage. Then all of a sudden I heard someone coming. I looked up but saw no one. When I turned around, I saw a boy, looked like he was 15. He had brown hair, blue eyes and was tall. He said “hi” to me and I said “hi” back. We talked to each other for awhile until Ms.Keeper called us in. I really hoped that Ms.Keeper didn’t see me talk to that boy because she would punish me. For the next three days, I talked to that boy over the fence every recess. He told me about his life and it really surprised me. He said he had a house as big as the whole orphanage (the orphanage is as big as a hotel). He said he had his mom and dad living with him, that he has money, any kind of drink, and lots of junk food. He played video games everyday and watched TV and also he quit school. His mom and dad don’t care about what he does as long as he’s home by midnight! When he told me this, I started thinking, is every life out there like his? What is everyone’s else’s life like? I couldn’t sleep that night or any other night after that day. Soon, we became friends and he asked if the orphanage was boring. I didn’t even know what to say because it was alright living in the orphanage but compared to his life, it was nothing. I didn’t say anything and he asked if I wanted to run away to his house. I, of course, was surprised and didn’t say anything for awhile but then I said I would think about it. Ms.Keeper called us inside, and I don’t know why but she never caught me talking to him. Ms.Keeper usually stands by the door of the orphanage, looking into the field of how we are playing. I was farthest away from her so maybe she doesn’t see so well. After those days, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking of running away. But how was I supposed to run away? If I got caught, I would be punished and I would have to be a slave to everyone, washing dishes, sweeping, and cleaning. Besides, I couldn’t run away because we all slept in rooms with four people to each room. Our room was the farthest away from the exit. I would have to tip-toe (at night?!?) through the whole orphanage just to get to the exit. No, I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. But that boy kept assuring me that everything will be okay. I talked it over with the boy and I decided to run away with him at night, at 11pm because he had to be home by 12pm. By 8pm, all the girls in the orphanage would be sleeping, but Ms.Keeper stays up till 10pm, listening to classical music in her favourite rocking chair. As not to wake Ms.Keeper, the boy suggested that he would come to my window at night and I would climb over. Our room was on the lowest level – level one- so it was the closest to the ground. It was supposed to happen in two days from then. I was very nervous and scared, and I kept looking at Ms.Keeper if she had any suspicions, but it didn’t look like it. It was the day of the run. I packed all my stuff, which wasn’t really much. I put all my clothes in my pockets (it fit perfectly). I was wide awake that night, listening till Ms.Keeper turned off her classical music and went to bed. It was perfectly silent. You could hear every single breath of the girls. My tummy had a trillion butterflies in it and I couldn’t stop my heavy breathing. At 11pm, there was a quiet knock at my window and I knocked back. That was our signal for letting each other know we were ready. I then looked at everyone in the room. They were sound asleep. I opened the window and it’s super squeaky. I waited a moment to see if anyone woke up, but no one moved. I climbed over the window to the boy. I closed the window with a loud squeak and started running with the boy to wherever my feet let me go. It was a dark night and only the half-lit moon was our source of light. The boy led me through streets and streets of houses until we came to a huge house. It was so pretty. It looked like the orphanage but it had no spiderwebs. It was clean and super nice. It looked like they were rich to have all those diamond stuff on the door. They boy opened the door and the light hurt my eyes. It was so bright in there, so big. The stairs were curved, like I only saw in fairy tales, and there was his mom standing in the doorway. She first smiled, but when she saw me, she made a confused face and came closer. I was so scared. What would his mom do? Did he tell his mom about me? My brain threw me a thousand questions to answer of which I didn’t know the answers for. The lady came closer and asked the boy slowly who I was. He told his mom that I was a friend from the orphanage. His mom got angry, her face started to turn red and she started to talk louder. She started saying that I’m filthy and that she doesn’t want to see me ever again and to get out off this house. I looked at the boy. He started to cry. I tear went down his cheek. He begged his mom to let her stay for the night but his mom didn’t budge. The boy’s mom shut the door on me and I was outside in the cold. All of this was for nothing. This meet we had. All the recesses we talked, all the nights I didn’t sleep, and I couldn’t go back to the orphanage now. I was alone. I didn’t even know where to go. I got off the boys lawn and I sat down on the sidewalk, crying and I realized I didn’t even know what the boy’s name was! Suddenly, I heard a door open. I looked back to see if it was the boy’s mom. No, it wasn’t. I looked around and saw that the boy’s neighbor has opened the door and was calling me. The person at the door was a grandma. She told me to come in. I stood up and came inside. She told me that she heard the neighbors talking loudly so she went to see what the commotion was about. She asked me if I wanted to eat but I refused. She sent me to bed, not knowing anything about me. She was so kind to me. She sent me upstairs where I had my own room. I fell asleep very fast, and I slept till lunch the next day. I forgot all about the orphanage and went downstairs to meet my hero. She was making breakfast for me. We sat down at the table and she told me her name ( Grandma Laura ) and I told her all about my life. Every single thing. When I came to the part about the orphanage, her eyes widened. Grandma Laura told me that many many years ago, she was the owner of the orphanage! The government fired her because they thought she wasn’t suitable for the job. When she went away, she made photocopies of the documents of the girls and kept them because the girls were so precious to her that she couldn’t just leave them. Grandma Laura stood up and went upstairs to go get them. When she came back down, she had a whole ton of documents! She found one by the name of Nikita. That morning changed my life. She let me read my own document. It figures out that my real mom died while having me. My dad was still alive. My dad’s name was Walter Eggons. The grandma’s eyes widened when I told her the name of my dad. She told me that that was her husband! So Grandma Laura was my mom? She didn’t die? But Grandma told me the whole story. My dad, Walter, first married a lady named Agnes, and they had a baby named Nikita ( that was me) and during childbirth, Agnes died, but I lived. Later, my dad could no longer care after me so he dropped me off at the orphanage when I was 1 year’s old. For my dad, that was a hard decision. He had to work but he couldn’t leave me at home and there was no one to look after me. After my dad’s wife died, he married Laura. Laura was sitting in front of me, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She then told me the saddest news- my dad died of cancer a couple months ago. I started choking back sobs, and then tears. Grandma Laura was the only family I had. She was my stepmother. It has been seven years since that happened and right now I am sitting with tears in my eyes, telling you this. I live with my stepmom and my husband, Jeffrey. Turns out that after that day, I lived with my stepmom for a couple months but then the boy’s mom found out that I was still in this neighborhood. The boy was so happy to hear that, and he told me his name- Jeffrey Jones. We soon joined our friendship together and a couple months later, we were married. Also,he wasn’t 15 years old, like I thought, he was 17. -Written by Nikita Eggons-Jones

Yoyoyo its generikb here and today we are playing roller coaster tycoon

Anyone got ideas for a short story titled as Leornard’s Fatal Oversight. In need of help asap.

Ugh, this is getting do frustrating! I thought to myself as I struggled through the streets. My ankles kept twisting every time I slipped. Heels are so not comfy. I shouldn’t have worn them. As if my struggle wasn’t enough, people were pushing me as they passed me by. I was being shoved left and right amidst the bustling sidewalks of New York. Feeling fed up, I decided to lean onto a nearby store to regain my balance. What an awful idea it was. Unfortunately, I have miscalculated the distance between me and the store and I ended up leaning on thin air. I tried to right my footing before it was too late but I ended up tripping on my own feet. With a loud oomph I slammed into a passerby. Papers went flying around us as we both fell to the ground.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.” I tried to hurriedly stand up but I ended flat on the ground again. “I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to lean on the wall to regain my balance since it’s the first time to wear heels, and oh my god, it is very hard and painful.”

The person nodded quietly and started gathering the papers. I got to my knees and tried to help. “I was supposed to be looking smart for today’s meeting, but I don’t think it’s been working out so well. I bet I look as smart as a baboon’s butt.” I heard the person chuckle but I went on with my rant, “I also bet that I am a total mess; I don’t how will I meet everyone at work this way. Oh man! They sure will give me an earful of criticism!” I didn’t realize I had been holding on to the few papers I collected while he tried to pull them from my grasp. “Oh, I am so sorry, once again,” I said still holding on to the papers while I got up, “I didn’t realize I was holding on to the documents…it’s not like I’ve read them; I’m just guessing they were documents as your suit looks neat and yeah.” I tugged gently on the lapel of the suit and finally raised my eyes to his face. My eyes probably widened as I saw him for the first time. To cut it short, he was hot! Like smoking salmon hot; or more like hot chili pepper that Indians eat hot! Now I’ll give all the details, I know you want them…I would want them if I was listening to one of my friends telling me such a story. Anyways, he stood a good foot or so taller than me. He had light brown hair styled backwards. His angular, defined jaw was covered with a five o’clock shadow. Bright hazel eyes shone with amusement as a slight smile covered his lips. “I don’t usually talk to strangers as much as I do. God! I’m coming off as talkative! I am not usually the talkative type; I seriously don’t know what is wrong with me today. And whoa, you look handsome,” my eyes widened in shock as he raised both eyebrows, “Did I say that out loud? Oh my god, I said that out loud. I didn’t mean to say that…I don’t mean you’re not handsome, because you’re one hell of a man; I just mean…Ugh! Now I’m coming off as a weird man-gazing half-crazed stalker. That is if I’m not fully crazed. I don’t think I’m making any sense…I should probably get going.” I went to turn around when I felt a tug onto something I’m holding to. With a confused look I looked to my hands and found the stack of papers. With a not so faint blush, I handed him the papers, “I’m sorry again.” I threw my hand behind my shoulder pointing in the opposite direction, “I should probably get going,” I said with a sheepish smile. I turned to leave again, but I was stopped…again. He cleared his throat, “I think you’re forgetting something.” “Um…no, I think I’m,” I turned his way to find him holding my bag. I awkwardly stepped to take it and said, “Thanks. I’ll see you around, not that I know where you are…I’ll just get going.” I took my bag and headed off in the opposite direction before I could embarrass myself any further. As I waited for the subway, I recalled what just happened and face palmed. I took the short ride to the office to compose myself. I was in for a surprise once I entered the meeting room, though. The man I bumped into was standing at the head of the table. “Good morning everyone, before starting today’s meeting, I would like to introduce you to the company’s new CEO…” Well, I wasn’t expecting this. I sat rigidly on the chair once we were told to. “Good morning everyone, I am Nathaniel and I am looking forwards to working with everyone on this team,” he said with a smile on his face. “Mr. Nathaniel, I would like you to meet our best employee, Ms. Felicity Brown.”My boss pointed my way and I wish he hadn’t. Nathaniel’s eyes found mine. They were filled with amusement. Oh this was going to be a long day.

And this, kids, is how I met your father.

A great (and family friendly) writing site is http://www.storybird.com

I might write a story about a girl who was born a princess but all her family died on a ship except her aunt and cousin…she gets taken to an orphanage and everyone else thinks she died too and she gets adopted a few Years later she goes to school and everyone is talking about her…one days she finds out that… oh u want to know well I’ll probs write a story about it on wattpad so u can look for it, it will be called…A princess???

Four new members have a look at couch on top of Crestwood center ship

high school graduation sports activitiestrail Softballand therefore Swimmingbeach ball Tennismales adolescent girls info Field HS HS WrestlingCollege Pro Submit ScoresSubmit

WRIGHT TWP. In all perhaps had to be the most significant reorganization matching presented among Luzerne regional 11 institutions zones, Crestwood school panel swore located in four sign ups compared to the ne member, repairing incumbents which are either of them missing in action unique reelection tenders belonging to the primary or elected to get not to research another phase.

wayne Brogna, Stacey Haddix, Kimberly Spath and thus Lauren McCurdy got been sworn appearing in thursday night. The four bought conducted completely considering that the to produce enhancement community. really earning incumbent from a big part that do survived habitual grievance in past times two very long time came anna Hollock Bibla, which will garnered your ex first four year terms the particular snowboard. you become a member of in 2017 because of profitable an exclusive two year sitting.

The aboard had been proven a good solid director in just cost Jones deleted the primary. He extended in the direction this quite get-together ahead departing the barrier. But contact considering his or place for year isn an exciting new face. really 5 4 election with all four rookies in opposition of, james Costello vice president in the past year came branded president.

following the meeting, Brogna documented can lone even talk to gain themselves even so that he fully Costello ran into finished loads of dubious ballots the actual game board during the last two growth cycles. he explained he’s talked containing Costello together n’ your own questions that can the pup, but admitted no sign ups may possibly well most try out the us president job, if he or she. so which he wasn safe voting for Costello.

barry Boone is unanimously specified as vice chairman, Maureen McGovern came chosen assistant, and after that Brogna been recently branded as treasurer.

all of the reconstituted block have their first finding for normal establishment votes arrange for Dec. 19, Five days right after the contract over curious law firms in order to post proposals on a structured feasibility study, sense my blackboard can have to be able to merit a legal contract.

Four newbies your day Crestwood their school panel accept the promise of health care office at some stage in thurs reorganization talking. right between lead are actually Stacy Haddix, Kimberly Spath, Lauren McCurdy and as a consequence randy Brogna. 17 public speaking.

while prompt wednesday authorities chairman paul Belusko should become aware of if will probably be at center arena this booked careers class a better or at site of the event thus more people beautiful vietnamese women may easily give priority to.

Belusko proclaimed she will be polling an additional four authorities musicians in email’s over the past weekend on recommendation mayor choose George light brown undertaken especially during tuesday night time seeing replace the to and time production for the.

looking to you can keep them respond back to me made by the following thursday, Belusko considered that Friday.

maybe authorities decides to transfer an appointment it provides a week in order to place and with seating rather than a unique fourth area chambers.

was regarded as thinking that it is recently doing open talking long before the performance visit someplace (home buyers and thus local authority or council) may questionthings just to associated with us transfer to the author’s your job session. which unfortunately whatever i thinking about, Belusko claims.

you will most likely plumbing service in sunday night-time show results demonstrations that when local authority or council could not vote on awaiting the law. comments together with inquires are allowed even though council monday date the general public get togethers. timetabled start.

village owner david Gazenski suggested it authorities call on which direction to start.

over council if that they move this approach to a different store, Gazenski alleged.

nearly as Belusko may reaching out to authorities, so too will white because of main receiving area for the mans professional recommendation.

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Spotify already has numerous ways for listeners to find music to listen to on its platform. Now it’s adding a new AI tool that can automatically compile a playlist based on user-entered text strings.

The company has launched a beta version of a feature it calls AI Playlist, available first to Spotify Premium subscribers in the U.K. and Australia. The new tool lets you “turn your most creative ideas into playlists,” according to Spotify.

Spotify said AI Playlist won’t produce results for non-music-related prompts, such as current events or specific brands. In addition, the company said it has implemented measures to block “prompts that are offensive.”

According to Spotify, AI Playlist can work off prompts referencing places, animals, activities, movie characters, colors, emoji and more. The “most successful” playlists will result from prompts “that contain a combination of genres, moods, artists or decades,” the company added. Users also can revise and refine the playlists by telling AI Playlist more specifically what they’re looking for (i.e., “more pop” or “less upbeat”).

The AI Playlist beta is available initially in the U.K. and Australia to subscribers on its Android and iOS apps. “Over the coming months, we look forward to continuing to iterate on this new feature to best serve our listeners,” the company said.

We just launched a new beta test – AI playlists. It’s a feature that uses AI chat prompts to help you curate personalized playlists. It’s still a work in progress but I’m excited for you to give it a try. We’re starting with Premium users in the UK and AU, so let me know what you… pic.twitter.com/bJBei7nxNc — Daniel Ek (@eldsjal) April 8, 2024

Overall, according to the company, Spotify users engage in nearly 2 billion discoveries daily, through features like the AI DJ launched last year, Discover Weekly and the Daily Mix playlists.

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Director of Saint Leo’s Master of Creative Writing Program Awarded 2023 Bronze Medal in Florida Book Awards

Dr. Anne Barngrover’s ‘Everwhen’ poetry collection earns a top prize in the state. Read more about her book and her advice for writers.

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• College of Arts Sciences and Allied Services
• Creative Writing
• Master of Arts in Creative Writing
• MA in Creative Writing
• Florida Book Awards
• Graduate Program
• Liberal Arts
• National Poetry Month

During National Poetry Month, it’s fitting to congratulate Saint Leo University’s Dr. Anne Barngrover, who has been awarded the 2023 Bronze Medal by the Florida Book Awards for her poetry collection, Everwhen.  Barngrover, associate professor of creative writing, and director of the  Master of Arts in Creative Writing Program , will attend the awards ceremony in Tallahassee, FL, at the end of April. 

The Florida Book Awards were established in 2006. The 18th annual competition featured 170 eligible publications submitted across 11 categories for books published in 2023.

Earning the gold medal for poetry was Kweku Abimbola of Tampa for Saltwater Demands a Psalm (Graywolf Press) and the silver medal was awarded to Jessica Q. Stark of Jacksonville for Buffalo Girl .

Barngrover’s Everwhen will be among the other Florida Book Award-winning books on permanent display in the library at the Governor's Mansion in Tallahassee and in an exhibit case on the third floor of Florida State University's Strozier Library.

Published by the University of Akron Press, the award-winning Everwhen is Barngrover’s third poetry collection. Barngrover’s  Brazen Creature was published in 2018 also by the University of Akron Press and was a finalist for the 2019 Ohioana Award for Poetry, and Yell Hound Blues  was published by Shipwreckt Books in 2013. 

Originally from Cincinnati, Ohio, Barngrover earned her Bachelor of Arts from Denison University, her Master of Fine Arts from Florida State University, and her doctorate in English and creative writing from the University of Missouri.

Q&A with Dr. Anne Barngrover

Q. This is a BIG award! Are you having “all the feelings?” Why do you think the judges selected Everwhen ?

 A:  Thank you! I’m not exactly sure why the judges selected Everwhen. In the writing world, as in other creative pursuits, there’s so much subjectivity and rejection, the rejection far outweighing the acceptances, and oftentimes you never know why your work can get rejected by one literary journal, press, or award and accepted by another. I’ve had to learn a long time ago not to take any of it too personally and to develop a thick skin, to trust my creative instincts, and to keep marching on. That being said, I am so grateful to all those who have supported Everwhen and am very honored to have been chosen for the bronze medal.

Q: Do the poems in Everwhen follow a theme — are they connected? And if so, can you explain the theme?

 A:  I wrote and revised these poems from around 2017-2021, so the images, obsessions, and preoccupations of those years became part of this collection. Everwhen is an anxious book concerned with how our planet is being treated and how vulnerable people, especially women, are treated in tandem. Many of these poems speak as plants or as the Roman goddess Ceres, ruler of agriculture and of women and girls, as imagined in the 21 st century. Ceres’ insistence on truth-telling and resilience are familiar navigations for me. 

As a decade-long Florida resident, I experience this state as verdant, otherworldly, and misunderstood, rife with the manmade horrors of toxic algae, disappearing species and coastlines, dangerous weather patterns, and the highest reports of cyber-attacks in the country, and all of these local concerns are reflected in the poetry of this book. Overall, Everwhen deals with love, grief, and beauty in the apocalypse; the body and mind in peril; and the ecological concept of Deep Time.

Q: What inspires you to write, whether it be poetry or another form of writing?

  A: I am most inspired to write when I am reading other poems that strike me in their imagery, visual form, musicality, and use of the line, or when I am reading evocative prose. I love that poems are made up of both lines and sentences; I am most inspired by the possibility of sentences. 

My daily bike rides around my neighborhood also inspire me because I live in an area that contains a lot of lush and unusual nature. Likewise, I am inspired by the places I travel to, whether that is a nearby beach or a city in Europe. Physically moving outside helps me to meditate, think deeply, and observe the world around me. I bring all of my reading and my observations with me when I come to the page to write, and in doing so, I never face the blank page alone.

Q: What advice do you give to young writers?

 A : Read! My  students know that my mantra is, “Read five times more than you write.” Read within your genre and outside of your genre. Read work that is old and work that is new. Read work that is similar to what you want to write and work that is wildly different. 

Reading gives you permission to try new things in your writing, to experiment with form and perspective, and to re-imagine the possibilities of storytelling and expression. No one can work in a bubble; all successful writers borrow from the writers who came before them. If you do not read, you will stagnate as a writer. What’s more, reading can become one of the greatest loves of your life; I know it has been a great love in mine. 

Leading Micro-credential in Creative Writing This Summer

This summer, Barngrover will lead the 2024 master’s in creative writing summer residency as well as a micro-credential program in creative writing. The micro-credential program will provide feedback from creative writing faculty and peers on what participants are working on — new fiction, creative nonfiction, or poetry. It takes place 9 a.m. – 5 p.m., July 8-13 at Saint Leo’s campus, 33701 County Road 52, St. Leo, FL 33544. The deadline to sign up is June 15. For more information, email  [email protected]

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Write down your thoughts and shred them to relieve anger, researchers say

Writing negative reactions on paper and shredding it or scrunching and throwing in the bin eliminates angry feelings, study finds

Since time immemorial humans have tried to devise anger management techniques.

In ancient Rome, the Stoic philosopher Seneca believed “my anger is likely to do me more harm than your wrong” and offered avoidance tips in his AD45 work De Ira (On Anger).

More modern methods include a workout on the gym punchbag or exercise bike. But the humble paper shredder may be a more effective – and accessible – way to decompress, according to research.

A study in Japan has found that writing down your reaction to a negative incident on a piece of paper and then shredding it, or scrunching it into a ball and throwing it in the bin, gets rid of anger.

“We expected that our method would suppress anger to some extent,” said Nobuyuki Kawai, lead researcher of the study at Nagoya University. “However, we were amazed that anger was eliminated almost entirely.”

The study, published in Scientific Reports on Nature , builds on research on the association between the written word and anger reduction as well as studies showing how interactions with physical objects can control a person’s mood. For instance, those wanting revenge on an ex-partner may burn letters or destroy gifts.

Researchers believe the shredder results may be related to the phenomenon of “backward magical contagion”, which is the belief that actions taken on an object associated with a person can affect the individuals themselves. In this case, getting rid of the negative physical entity, the piece of paper, causes the original emotion to also disappear.

This is a reversal of “magical contagion” or “celebrity contagion” – the belief that the “essence” of an individual can be transferred through their physical possessions.

Fifty student participants were asked to write brief opinions about an important social problem, such as whether smoking in public should be outlawed. Evaluators then deliberately scored the papers low on intelligence, interest, friendliness, logic, and rationality. For good measure, evaluators added insulting comments such as: “I cannot believe an educated person would think like this. I hope this person learns something while at the university.”

The wound-up participants then wrote down their angry thoughts on the negative feedback on a piece of paper. One group was told to either roll up the paper and throw it in a bin or keep it in a file on their desk. A second group was told to shred the paper, or put it in a plastic box.

Anger levels of the individuals who discarded their paper in the bin or shredded it returned to their initial state, while those who retained a hard copy of the paper experienced only a small decrease in their overall anger.

Researchers concluded that “the meaning (interpretation) of disposal plays a critical role” in reducing anger.

“This technique could be applied in the moment by writing down the source of anger as if taking a memo and then throwing it away,” said Kawai.

Along with its practical benefits, this discovery may shed light on the origins of the Japanese cultural tradition known as hakidashisara ( hakidashi sara refers to a dish or plate) at the Hiyoshi shrine in Kiyosu, just outside Nagoya. Hakidashisara is an annual festival where people smash small discs representing things that make them angry. The study’s findings may explain the feeling of relief that participants report after leaving the festival, the paper concluded.

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