I am the Worst Dinner Guest EverI am the worst dinner guest ever.To try and compete with me is to try and compete with a cloudy winter's day for most gloomy.You have a better chance at beating the sun in a starring contest!Try your hand at pitting yourself in a contest of balance against a sturdy tree!I promise you, the odds are more in your favour for that one!Heaven help you, I will sit and listen to every single anecdote.Spill your stories like rivers spill water! Share your every amusing tale with fervour!Every syllable, every word, every sentence; I will devour them rapaciously.In my grim and twisted delight I will even ask you questions so that I may understand more your story and leaving you feeling thoroughly the centre of attention.If I am feeling particularly vile, my questions and interest in what you have to say may leave you feeling the more competent dispenser of exquisite narratives.The depth of my excrementitious villainy does not stop with story, no no!I may even seek to go so far as to ex
Sorry to OffendWhy do I always feel like shit in the presence of others?Yes, I said shit.Sometimes, shit, is really just the only word one can use to describe a shitty feeling.Sorry to have offended you.Long nights end in short spats with exhaustion and low self worth.I'll be myself!I can never be myself.I'll try and fit in!I can never seem to fit in.In the presence of radiating lovelinessSurging positivity,I can only ever seem to retreat.Bitter.Negative.Frustrated.Tired.Have I simply been with the wrong people?Have I had to be "on"?I love these people.Some more deeply than they may ever know and more deeply then I will ever allow myself to reveal for fear of hurt.I am left with the questions that wrack over my brain like a brute to the whip."What is wrong with me?""What do I need to change?""Why am I not good enough now?"Yes, I understand there is one who loves me, but why don't they?Why don't they feel the same way?Why doesn't she?No, she doesn't do it to me on purpose.T
Like a Dirty ShirtI loathe your text messages.And yet I await them eagerly.Every time the screen on my phone lights up and the alert sings out and the whole thing vibrates to let me know that you've said hello or shared your thoughts, I get a little excited.However, every single time I send you my reply, I send it with instant regret and longing.I hate texting you.It's like a bittersweet addiction.Each text goes out with me feeling like I am in something that isn't even there and I am left feeling not empty just mournful."I want this, but it's not real."You've got me hung up like a dirty shirt.
Giving Up=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A character receives a message. The story takes place in the future. The story must involve a bottle of beer at the end.Title: Giving Up=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=Just Give Up.The phrase was written everywhere he could look.It made no sense.A quick tap on the small implant on the temple and looked around the room. Everyone was laughing and joking around with one another. Their eyes were glazed over and pale white, a side effect of accessing the net. Dillon shook the person next to him, pulling the man from his revelry. Sour faced, the man tapped the node around his temple, and his eyes faded from dull white to a dark brown in the same way sugar might dissolve in water."The hell you want? I in the middle of something.""What are the ads on your Net Account?"The man next to Dillon gave him a very displeased and annoyed look and tapped the blinking no
Winter's GuardiansThis story is my latest writing challenge attempt!=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=Challenge: The story ends on a wrecked ship. The story takes place at midnight exactly. During the story, there is a terrible misunderstanding. During the story, there is a letter delivered. The story must involve dust in the beginning.Title: Winter's Guardians=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A soft blow from her pink lips and dust is sent into the air like dull snow, softly twinkling in the moonlit sky, framed in the dark blue blanket of night. When her warm breath, rolling in plumes in the cold midnight air was not enough, the woman with snow coloured skin and dark raven's hair drew a feather duster seemingly from nowhere and began to vigorously bat away the thick layer of dust that had caked itself onto a stone table that sat hidden deep within a forest unknown to any save four. Small glints of light conti
One Last TeaOne morning, North awoke to find a small brown envelope sealed with blue wax sitting on the ugly red rug just underneath the ugly brass mail slot on his ugly redwood door. There wasn't anything special about the flat that he had taken residence in, but it was loaded with character, and character was always a massive draw for North. Character was the thing of stories. But that is not what is important right now. Opening the letter, North found inside the letter he always received at the beginning of the month. It was an invitation to High Tea with South, West and East. These days, however, the invitations had been stacking up on the dinning room table, tucked against the wall in the lounge (where it had no place being). If his flat had a fireplace in it, the stacks of unanswered invitations and junk mail would no doubt have been making a permanent residence in it.The note said the same thing it always said and was written in the same ink that never looked the same colour every time you