Hello Disgruntled Leaders, Thrill-Seekers, and Promise-Keepers!
Phew, we made it! Alright, did everyone see that? Because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
I’m Never Doing That Again
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
This prompt has almost endless possibilities—from silly to serious, from fantastical, to real. There are many things one might never want to do again.
It’s hard to know where to even start with examples, there are so many to choose from! Someone might try a new or different food and say “I’m never ordering that again!” or “I’m never eating here again!” You could write about a kid on the playground eating worms on a dare, saying they won’t be doing that again after throwing them all up. Perhaps this kid was bullied into doing it, and instead of vowing not to eat worms, they vow “I’m never letting myself get bullied again, I’m gonna stand up to them next time.” Maybe, to complete a mission, one of your characters has to dress up in a way they find silly and/or demeaning, and after they finish said mission they tell their team they’ll never do it again. Maybe someone kisses their crush (or, if you want to make it even spicier, the enemy) even though they’re not supposed to, and says they won’t do it again.
This prompt doesn’t just have to apply to someone who found a situation unpleasant. You could write about someone running from themselves. Perhaps someone is afraid of their own powers—like Aang in the “The Deserter” episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender, vowing he’s never going to Firebend again. I think a number of artists will at one point say, out of fear, frustration, or disappointment, “I’ll never make art again.” when it’d be a very sad thing if they truly didn’t. You could create lots of interesting juxtapositions with this: like a healer vowing not to heal people anymore, because they’re only taken for granted. A ghost vowing to never haunt again because they’ll never be noticed. A villain vowing never to do another evil thing because they believe they’ve changed.
Along this line…just because someone says they’ll never do something again doesn’t mean they truly won’t. This is where things fall into a more realistic and tragic category. Someone who’s addicted to a substance might say “I’ll never smoke again” or “I’ll never drink again” when you know…they probably will. An abusive person might say “I’ll never hurt you again,” …but you know it’s another tactic to keep you from running. Someone who’s abused—or in any sort of relationship that’s not right for them—might say “I’ll never run back to them” but you know they’ll pick up the phone when they call.
This prompt touches on our core nature. Sometimes people can say this phrase and really mean it, and truly follow through. But I think more often than anything when we say we won’t do something again we’re trying to change ourselves, convince ourselves…and usually that doesn’t work. Usually we haven’t addressed the deeper issue that keeps us going back to that bad habit, or bad person.
My challenge for you is to once again take inspiration from your own life. Think about a time when you said “I’m never doing that again” and what happened following. Did you follow through on that promise? Or was it said in a moment of emotion, not really meant? Or did you really mean it, but didn’t follow through? You can use your own life in a variety of ways. You could write an account of the event; you could end the story in a different way than it did in reality; you could use the event/promise as inspiration for a fiction entirely different from the situation it was born from. [And if you do use your own life you can add (Based on a True Story) or (Inspired by a True Story) to your title].
Get out there and get writing. I hope you got all that, because I won’t be saying it again.
—Pearce, Paul, Kaylie, & Derek
—
Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
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- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
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- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
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- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
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Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
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I Love You, I Need Help, I Want Hope
By Norman Gray
‘I love you.’
I said those words a long time ago, and by the time she finally said it back, I no longer felt the same way… All I had left was the certainty that if we stayed together, I’d put her through hell.
I wasn’t well. I needed help.
Spending an intimate amount of time with someone only reassured me of how fucked up my life was by comparison… Every bit of self-analysis, every attempt at self improvement only revealed the problem to be worse than I ever realized, and it left me once again feeling hopeless.
I don’t want to be in a relationship again. I don’t want to hurt someone or waste their time. I have to learn to love myself, if I ever hope to love someone else.
—
“I’m not well. I need help.” I told them.
“It’s just the weather we’re having,” Dad told me. “It gets people down.”
“Therapists are just pill pushers,” Mom said.
“Just be a man,” my brother told me. “Only women act like this.”
When I confided in my brother that I struggle to find enjoyment in anything, that I felt nothing at all… He laughed in my face.
—
‘I need help.’ Those three words terrify me. The vulnerability of placing my fate in the hands of others, giving them the opportunity to rub salt in my wounds… Hoping they have more than just ‘good intentions.’
I can’t do it anymore. I feel like I’ve exhausted my trust. When the faulty wiring in my brain makes me treat every potential friend like a certain foe, what can I do? How do you seek help for your crippling fear of seeking help?
I’m tired of giving people the chance to hurt me, and I worry that this anxiety will eventually be the death of me. I can’t even bring myself to talk to another therapist. I’m sick of them. Sick of doctors. Sick of beating my head against the wall…
But I’m also sick of spending every waking moment, as if I’m just waiting to die…
I want hope.
The Illusion of Control (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam
Scribe and Jostica held tightly to Jonathan as scales fell from his body, disintegrating in the wind. His burning eyes faded to slits of flame. His tension eased, but did not leave completely.
“Let go,” he growled, shrugging out of their grasp. “I have to go. Scribe’s power won’t hold me for long.” He took one step then leapt off into the distance.
Jostica started to pursue, but then her shoulders drooped. She turned to Scribe. “Guess I should get you back.” And teleported them away.
Ultima glowered at Sol, pushing herself up, wincing. “I’m going home, getting a shower, then I’m going to sleep for thirty-two hours.”
“You should go to the medi-” Sol started, but she flew off.
Alone, Sol stood at the edge of the deep crater he’d made attempting to restrain Jonathan Rose, The Dragon. He heaved a sigh before his strength faded, and he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He coughed, feeling something running down his throat. He sniffed. And down his face. He sniffed again before lifting his mask up, wiping the blood from his nose.
It had been a long time since his powers had caused him mental strain. Even longer since that strain became physical.
The last time he’d had to hold The Dragon back, they’d been in a crumbling, burning, city. He’d chosen to let go and save the civilians instead. But how many more had The Dragon gone on to kill?
If he’d held on, could the others have taken it down? Could any of them have really done anything to it? Just now he’d been pushing his limits to hold it down, and it’d kept getting back up. He hadn’t even been fully transformed this time.
He wiped away another trickle of blood.
Did he ever have it under control? Was he only telling himself he’d let it go?
They needed a plan. A way to stop him for sure if Jonathan ever lost it again.
Repositioning his mask, he stood up.
And maybe a way to stop Ultima, if she kept picking fights with him.
Not Again (Life of Madness)
by Lee Strangely
Shiloh’s isolated house was remarkably well-kept, not to mention quite homely. It was oddly warm and welcoming, prepared for visitors despite being perched so far from them.
From the kitchen Shiloh asked aloud, “Could I get you something to drink?” He waited for an answer as the glass in his hand grew heavier. “Maddy?” Once the water stopped running, he could only hear one sound.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…
Shiloh peeked around the corner, “Maddy?”
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…
Even without her mud-stained hiking boots, her feet tapping on the old wood floor still dominated the room. Maddy though, didn’t really notice the sound. Unlike the rest of her, her head seemed almost statuesque, permanently entranced by the open window next to her.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…
“Maddy?”
“Oh, sorry,” she finally responded, her foot finally stopping, “no thank you.”
“You alright?”
“Alright? Yeah, yeah. Perfectly alright.”
Without so much as a second of silence passing, Shiloh immediately heard another lighter tapping. Even though Maddy’s feet were still, her hand continued to rap away on the chair-arm.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Shiloh asked, “what’s your dad doing in the backseat of your car?”
“I resurrected him.”
“I noticed that… but why? I thought you hated him.”
“I wanted to bring him back, so he can die again…”
“Okay that makes more sense.”
“Look I’m sorry; I’m basically barging in on you and dragging you into something all over again like before and…”
“No, no you’re not. It’s fine. It’s okay, I don’t hold any of that against you. Your mother wasn’t there, you were emotional. It’s all fine. Honestly, I don’t deal with the dead anymore anyway…” Shiloh took a sip, “So what do you need help with?”
“I need you to find Dad’s soul.”
Shiloh choked.
Hard Pass Next Time
By MasaCur
The tiny outboard motor chugged as the boat made its way slowly across the lake. At the rear of the boat, Erykah manned the tiller, guiding it around.
Sonja looked around the moonlit locale. “So, you kept mentioning the Bear Lake monster on the way up here, but I can’t help but notice, we’re in Nevada.”
“Yup,” Erykah replied.
“And Bear Lake is in Utah.”
“Uh huh. I think we’re dealing with a similar creature. Maybe some kind of prehistoric beast like a mosasaur. Or a primitive…dragon.”
“Not all dragons are the same,” Sonja said. “An intelligent Draco sapien has about as much in common with a basilisk as a human does with a lemur.” She looked around the lake. “So the plan is to just motor about on the lake all night until we find it?”
Erykah shrugged sheepishly. “Well, we are towing around the hind quarter of a cow. Hopefully that attracts it. I was thinking about hooking up a fishing sonar, but there’s always the chance that that could also drive it away.”
Sonja blinked. “So, not really a plan then. Any idea about how long…”
She was cut off as the boat suddenly jerked backwards. It started to reverse, and the motor was smoking. Erykah shut it off and pulled it out of the water.
The rope holding the bait snapped and the two women stared at one another.
“We should get going,” Erykah said.
Sonja opened her mouth, but couldn’t say anything as a dark mass emerged from the water, engulfed the front half of the boat, and swallowed it, Sonja included.
Erykah tried to prepare a spell as the remainder of the boat started to sink.
A large, crocodilian head emerged from the water, its mouth wide open. And it seemed to be gagging. It lifted its head, and she could see a growing mass in its throat. Suddenly, it exploded, spraying her in blood and guts. A flash of gold dove into the ocean.
Seconds later, Sonja, now a golden dragon, emerged.
“Next time, I’d rather not get eaten by the lake monster.”
Damsel In Distress?
By Taja DaLeen
“I won’t ever be saving you again, you batcrap insane woman!”
“Aww, I love you too, Hones.”
The young man glared at the currently pink haired girl, not at all happy about the turn of events.
They had just been on their way back home, when a rogue group of Asmodis worshiping witches attacked them and kidnapped his friend.
It didn’t help that she was a rare life elemental fae, meaning she had a connection to Asmodis – which sadly was quite known among people from the Other World – and also she didn’t even resist being kidnapped.
She thought it was fun.
He didn’t know if it was the being taken away part, the part where she gets to chatter at new people, or the one where he rescues her.
He really should stop doing that, she was hardly a damsel, and definitely not in distress.
“Tch, shut it. You think this is fun for me? Why can’t you just defend yourself for once? I know you’re more than capable enough.”
Arms crossed he waited for her to say something. Or do something, anything. But she just stood there, apparently deep in thought.
He wondered what she was thinking about…
Probably nothing good. She was such a mad lad, he sometimes wondered how she got anything done, how she was able to survive.
Maybe because he always protected her, kept her safe, rescued her if necessary… she really was a piece of work. Why the hell did he still do all this? He should just stop.
Probably would be better for his sanity, too.
“Can we leave now? Or do you need more time to contemplate your life choices?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
She pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning against, and when passing him she kissed him, on his cheek.
“Thanks again.”
On their way out of the lair, she laughed at the witches’ groaning and told them she warned them.
Maybe he should not stop saving her. Life would be a lot less interesting if he did.
Probably.
I’m Not Answering (Illusions of Heroes)
by Gerrit (Rattus)
Areziah watched the Knight Arcane approaching him, the hollow eyes of their mask staring back at him. He had seen through those eyes more times than he could count, but being on the other side of them now was a whole new experience.
As the distance between them dwindled, Areziah noted the extra mask in the Knight’s hands. When they drew within a few metres of each other, the Knight held the mask out towards Areziah.
“Why are you here?” Areziah asked, ignoring the gift being offered to him.
“Yours was destroyed. I’m here to bring you a replacement.” The Knight’s voice pierced through the evening air. It didn’t sound familiar. Likely a new recruit.
“Did it ever occur to you that it was destroyed on purpose?”
The Knight remained silent for a moment before responding. “If that is the truth, I would urge you to reconsider. Refusal of this mask is refusal of the Order.”
Areziah reached out and took the mask from the Knight. He held it in both hands, staring at the ground through the empty eyes. The bronze finish caught the setting sun, reflecting the last vestiges of the day’s light.
“You are making the right choice, Brother.” The Knight seemed to nod slightly as he spoke. If so, then he knew who Areziah was, at least well enough to know that Areziah far outranked him.
Areziah stood with his head lowered to the mask, watching the Knight through his peripheral vision. The man’s posture had relaxed when Areziah took the mask, and he now stood with a touch more casual than before.
In one fluid motion, Areziah tossed the mask to the side with one hand, his other hand wrapping itself in a blade of magic that he drove into the man before him. The man lurched forward, his pain evident even through the emotionless mask.
“Consider the Order refused,” Areziah said, staring into the shadows within the eyes of the Knight’s mask. Then, knowing the Matriarch was watching from afar, he continued. “I’m not your puppet anymore. Next time send your best.”
“Entry-level Escapades”
By:Fog Wall
“This’s insane!” Shouting wasn’t helping, since the whipping winds stole my voice. The speed we were rocketing through the sky was terrifying! I’d always been a fan of graviton cyclone racers, but if someone had told me that I’d be on one, hugging a satyr for dear life…
Heeh. Dear. She’s part deer.
That thought made me smile. In spite of the actions we’ve taken, the numorous crimes Koalle coaxed me into, I was smiling. Excited. Exilerated.
The crescendo of sirens reuniting behind us made Koalle dip below the traffic, dropping our speed and flipping us sideways as our momentum carried us around the corner and across the open street. Looking down at the building we skirted against, I could see the bottom of our ride reflecting in the glossy, black windows.
My heart skipped a beat as Koalle glanced down at our reflection and gave me a wink.
Flipping the bike over, we left the biulding and our momentum carried us out, and as the bike came back below us, the anti-gravity caught us twenty feet above the ground. “Here we go!” She laughed in hysteria. Gunning it, She weaved between signs and screens, flashing neon and concrete walkways.
With a swift grace, Koalle brought us to a near stop, spinning us to the side and lining us up with a narrow alleyway. She revved the engine, launching us through that passage. Zipping through several blocks, she brought us to a slower stop.
We landed in a small courtyard where a young cherry blossom tree grew between the spires of Strundal.
She glanced back at me. “Good work; you stayed on.” Her praise didn’t register, but her cold fingers gently touching my forearm brought me back. “It’s okay, you can let go now.”
“Oh, uh… right.” I broke my clinched grip and leaned back. “I’m never riding with you again.”
“Good luck in your next escape,” she told me. Leaning back into me, her hands on my knees, she pressed down and kicked off the bike, landing gracefully with a hand offered. “Welcome to my home.”
Song of Solomon 4:5
WriterOfThought
Penelope was sick and tired of fighting these damned sentinels. She just couldn’t catch a break from them. Every corner she turned it seemed they were waiting in the wings to try and take her down.
“The fight is only beginning,” the dragon spirit within her reminded. “You must stay strong and vigilant.”
“I know,” she said, exasperated. She wanted a way to circumvent this constant fighting. The monotony of battle was wearing on her soul, not to mention her weapons.
Another sentinel was approaching. Penelope readied her spear, but stopped. Something about this one seemed different. Its movement wasn’t as robotic as the other ones; it almost seemed human.
She let it get closer, its pace not slowing. She could see its face clearly now. It looked just like…
“Babe?”
But that wasn’t possible. He should have been back at home with the kids, not here on the battlefield.
It looked just like him. But it kept approaching, drawing his sword. He had to have been possessed, she concluded.
Ignoring the growing protests of the dragon, Penelope bared the one thing she knew could always stop her husband in his tracks. If only it was her husband.
The sentinel struck her. She dropped her spear and fell to the ground, bleeding from her newly slashed chest.
“Pay attention to thE FIGHT, YOU BITCH!” the usually calm dragon shouted. Penelope had heard him curse, but it had never been directed at her like that before. She froze, thankful that she was on the ground where she could be mistaken for dead.
She felt so awful that she nearly wished she was. If the others fighting with her in this war ever learned about this incident, she would never live it down. They’d make sure that she’d never make that mistake again.
But she didn’t have time to sit and cry.
She knew she would laugh about it later, but she had to live to see “later” first. Penelope stood up, tucked her shirt back in, and grabbed her spear.
The dragon was right: the fight was only beginning.
The Shark Killer
By: The Missing Link
Mary fidgeted with excitement in the backseat of the car, the sharks controlling her brain swimming happily. She knew they weren’t real, but she just loved the metaphor at this point. Sharks die when they stop moving, and that fit her all too well.
Her only worry on this trip to the aquarium was the notorious head shark killer in the driver’s seat.
“Hey mom, did you know sharks don’t have bones?”
“That’s great, dear,” her mother sighed.
“When I grow up, I’m gonna be a marine biologist and spend all day around sharks every day.”
“Great.”
“What’s your favorite kind of shark? Mine’s the tiger shark.”
On countless trips to the aquarium with dad, Mary had taken to naming the sharks. Her favorite tiger shark, she had named Tony after her breakfast cereal a few years back.
She waited for a response, but her mother just gave a noncommittal grunt. The car ride felt longer than usual, but Mary hadn’t noticed if it was the traffic or that it was just awkward. At long last, Mary’s mother swerved into a parking space, cutting off another driver.
Mary’s stomach shot into her throat, and her eyes threatened to pop out of her skull when she got out of the car. Across the entrance of the aquarium was a banner for Autism Awareness Month. She prayed to whatever god would listen that her mother didn’t see it.
She did.
Fury flashed across her face as she stormed up to the entrance to tear down the sign. The shark killer returned, and as security dragged her mother away, screaming about the schools and MMR vaccines again, Mary could feel that she may never meet Tony and her other shark friends ever again.
If I Could Begin to Be, Half of What You Think of Me
By Marx
“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this, Old One,” Yelena sighed, looking at the void surrounding them. “We shouldn’t be here. No one should be here.”
The Old One chuckled. “And yet, here we are. You’re safe.”
“I know I’m safe. I’m with you, but-… we shouldn’t be here. We’re outside of time.” She looked around again. “For all we know, we’re outside of reality itself…”
The Old One continued to smile. “You’re not used to breaking rules for the fun of it, are you?”
Yelena sighed again in exasperation before smiling back. “I’m an angel. I was created to follow orders. That said… being here… is rather thrilling.”
“There are benefits to breaking the occasional rule, Yelena.”
There was a pause as Yelena smiled only for that smile to fade into thoughtfulness. “What is your name, Old One?”
Another pause.
“Old Ones being… mostly solitary beings, we have no need for names. Except when we find our soulmate. Then we name each other.”
“Ah…” Yelena murmured, looking away.
“As such, my name died long ago. With my previous soulmate.”
“My deepest apologies. I didn’t mean to-” Yelena froze as she truly heard what was said and that single word echoed in her mind. “…previous?”
The Old One smirked, reveling in Yelena’s flushed cheeks and the quickening of her breath. “Am I being presumptuous?”
Yelena looked down, hiding behind her long, blonde hair before she finally said, “No… You are not…”
“Then it is rather fortuitous that you wish for me to have a name then, is it not?”
“Does… that mean you’ll name me too?”
The Old One chuckled. “If you wish. However, I think Yelena is a beautiful name. And you seem to rather enjoy when I say it.”
Yelena began to fidget awkwardly. “You aren’t supposed to notice that. I just… think it unfair you use my name and I cannot use yours. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I can think of nothing more fitting than hearing my name on your lips.”
Yelena blushed furiously, taking a deep breath. “No pressure then…”
The Bones on The Thames
by Dystop
A despondent, swamp-filled fog rolled over the banks of the Thames.
Only two souls were brave, or stupid enough to be out there on a boat that night. Bone hunters.
“The ghosts of ghosts fetch a pretty price on the pitch-black market”.
“You’re lousy with poetic irony, Jack” smirked Hayley.
“Tell me something I don’t know. The bones around here have whispers we can capture; we could make a lotta money- “
“Jack, this isn’t worth it.”
Hayley was uneasy and could tell something was wrong. Jack was glimpsing the marrow, yes. But he was unusually enthralled, mesmerised.
She clicked her fingers three times in rapid succession.
“Jack!”
“…yeah, what?” he retorted with an air of pomposity; like he never needed help.
This was far from the truth.
“What now?”, said Hayley.
“I think it’s obvious– we plunder the damn thing, we haven’t come all this way just to glance at its splendour, we need it to buy relics.”
“Jack, that’s mesmerism talking” – interjected Hayley.
“Oh, screw you! You just don’t wanna take any risks, right?! You don’t wanna get involved in anything precarious or hazardous. You, hah, YOU- Hayley, aren’t cut out for THIS,” he bitterly scorched.
“Jack, this isn’t you. You recall what hypnotic zugzwang is?”
“Any move is a bad move, it’s lose-lose.”
“That’s you right now Jack.”
“I’ll throw it into the river, lose it to time– it’s better than us becoming lost to these waters” implored Hayley.
“Your breath is acetic. Like vinegar,” he snarled, flummoxed by her seemingly mocking poker-face.
“Jack…”
“Shut the hell up– you’re always like this, reluctant, noncommittal, avoidant, you’re a little- “
“JACK!”, Hayley cut off his punchline.
“Do you really despise me? Hate me? Detest my very being? Disdain me up close and loathe me from afar?”
“I… no… I, I don’t know… I feel all muddled. I’m disjointed at the joints, I’m convoluted hodgepodge.”
“Then we throw that damned thing into the river!”
As it sank and drifted to the depths, their boat rolled away on clouds of smog.
“I’m never doing this again,” mumbled Jack.
Not the Smartest Decision (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy universe)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
Sam threw open her bedroom window. A harsh gust of freezing wind would have swept her off her feet if they’d been on the floor to begin with. The beam of moonlight from the window gave Sam enough power to stay afloat.
Hopefully, enough power to run the ten miles to Roselyn’s—
“You’re leaving tonight?” a voice whispered from behind her.
Sam flinched and spun around. How had she not heard her dad enter her room?
“Tonight?” he repeated.
“Uh, yeah.” Sam grabbed the inside of the window’s edge, ready to leave. “Is that bad?”
“It’s a waning crescent moon. And it’s about to snow. Are you sure—”
“I promised, Dad. She needs me.”
“Really?”
“She needs SOMEONE. And I’m the only one she’s got. Besides, it’s not that bad. I’ve got a coat, see?”
He sighed, grabbed the door handle, but paused before he closed it. “Be back in time for—”
“I will.”
And Sam was out the window.
Her father let the door close with a quiet click.
“Samsylvia…” he whispered.
~~~
Sam found herself running through flurries two hours before the forecast said they’d fall. She squeezed her coat tighter around herself. She wished she’d worn warmer socks.
Her foot slipped on a moonbeam, as if she’d skipped a stair on a staircase. One scream and some frantic flailing later, and she was back on her feet, hyperventilating.
“Just five more miles…” she gasped. “C’mon, Moon…”
Roselyn had better be grateful when she got there…
Sam looked up. The crescent moon, just a thin line of light, was moments away from being covered by a cloud.
She looked back at the ground. The ground a quarter mile below her, covered in pine trees.
“Oh no, oh no—”
Sam scrambled, flailed, and swam towards the earth.
“Control the descent, control the—”
She fell.
A combination of wind, magic, and a flexible tree branch kept Sam alive. When she hit the forest floor, blood only trickled down over one eye, and only one of her arms felt… felt…
“This was…” Sam whispered to the unconsciousness encasing her, “a bad idea…”
[unrequited] Lust for Live
by Aracnarquista
I know I will get in trouble for saying that, but screw it, I’m done with that. Been there, tried it, struggled with it – and I’ve made my peace. I am giving up.
I will never date an undead again. Never.
And don’t come to me with that nonsense of “but Zöe, not all zombies”. Nope, that just won’t sell here. All zombies, period. If you want to give them a chance, fine by me. But I won’t, and I won’t have any advice for anyone in those relationships besides jump ship.
No stormy seas nor engulfing maelstroms of solitude can be worse than staying with those guys.
Let’s just state facts: they are just not alive. Doesn’t matter if they are a vampire, a lich, a zombie… the thing they don’t have anymore is a life. And you know what we have? A freaking life. We have interests, things to do, places to be, people to know. A life.
And you know what having a life does? It keeps us busy. So it is amazing to spend some time with your vampire boyfriend once in a while, but you know what happens when you are elsewhere (on your job, pursuing a degree, practicing one of your hobbies, whatever)? They stalk on you. They keep demanding attention. They cling to us, desperately for that sweet (and sometimes not so sweet) life that they desperately crave, and think they can only reach by going through us… and, newsflash, they are right. ‘Cause they don’t have one anymore.
I don’t blame them for being that way, really. But that just doesn’t make for healthy relationships. I can’t live to them, and they can’t live by me. They can’t just be content with me, and have no life at all when I’m gone. That’s a terrible way to establish companionship, to both of us.
So – no, I won’t ever again date one of the undead. And I think I made my reasons entirely clear.
Well, at least while I live, that is. We never know when undeath knocks on our door.