Excellent! Wow! Great writing!! -Grabbety
I was 12 when it happened, you know, when the world ended. Or began. I suppose it depends on how you look at it.
One moment we were herds shuffling down linoleum hallways between lockers and first crushes. We navigated the noise of life with all the certainty placed in the palms of our hands.
Then, without warning, no sirens or drills, it was dark. It was quiet.
We underestimated the background noise provided by the constant buzz to our lives back then. When it disappeared …
First it was the lights, cars, planes tumbling from the sky. It was our music, our chatter … our constant incessant updates.
Then it was our food, our water … It was an unraveling death sentence. A sickness seemingly innocent then all at once deadly.
Finally, they came. Rescue, freedom from the silence at last. We were promised a return to some kind…
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Excellent piece!! Had to share it!!
I’m at a carnival. ‘Goodbye 2016, Welcome 2017’ a neon sign glares overhead.
The scene around me looks like something right out of a sappy rom-com where lovers unite at the end of a year to welcome the new one locked in each other’s embrace, but I’m muttering curses under my breath as she pulls my unwilling hand towards the Ferris wheel queue. I hate carnivals. I hate heights. And I hate those who try to call this fear of heights irrational. Like my girlfriend, who is always hell-bent on trying to make me do weird shit and call it manly. Like that time she bought me a leather bracelet with a skull etched on it. What’s so manly about wearing a skull, even if it’s Titanium? I wouldn’t wear that even if I were dead. What was she thinking? Why does she treat me like a child? Why do we still share…
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She loved them all, once. But they never loved her. She never knew the difference. She just wanted to love. They just wanted a release. © 2017 Grabbety Covens
She loved them all, once. But they never loved her. She never knew the difference. She just wanted to love. © 2017 Grabbety Covens ***The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch is focusing on the question of writing being an art or craft. What are your thoughts?***
Hell hath no fury...
And the story continues