Prompts
Loss Control
Loss Control I went to sleep last night with loss on my mind. My mom died when I was 17 years old, and that loss burdened my heart and soul for a long time. Grief and sorrow were a painful journey; letting go of her was monumental. When I finally released her, she’d been gone for four years. Until I let go of her, though, my heart was not ready to heal or move on with life. She died before I was ready to lose her, but I had to let her go anyway.
By Mack D. Amesabout a month ago in Writers
63 Months
Well, at the end of this month it will be 63 months. And I have learned a few things. I am a poet, who doesn't know it. And all my time writing, I am still not good at fiction. I haven't given up though and I will write something one day that I will claim is truly good fiction.
By Denise E Lindquistabout a month ago in Writers
Nepenthe
Impulsivity, parasocial longevity, anything not to feel the wound of my betrayal, the acidic dissolution of a sewn-shut mouth hushing the algorithm for lurkers awaiting confessions with clasped hand to loins— just a cluster of sadists with an emotional pain kink. Your pleasure is my yearning. My heart — served on a golden platter for you to gracefully desert while the leeches orbit my affliction, feigning knowledge of me and wearing their dresses of conceit in envy-green, because I am that lovergirl, that netflix-and-chill-with-a-pretty-boy girl, who wears her mistake like a crown, her delusion like a solution to the pain that will be , whose authenticity confronts your conformity until your perception of this suffering becomes anything but a promise to make it last .
By Ruth Francise about a month ago in Writers
Fall of the Apocalypse . Content Warning.
The Fall of the Apocalypse The zombie outbreak didn’t start with sirens or explosions or government warnings. It started with a man trying to buy a pack of Marlboros at the Genoa Junction Bp off Highway 12. I was behind the counter, half asleep, half annoyed, and fully ready to tell him we were out of his brand. Cyndle was restocking the cooler, humming something off‑key. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they always did. It was just another Tuesday.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Writers
The Pit and The Pendulum – a scene lives on in my mind. Top Story - September 2026.
The 1960s had so many scary movies. They were not full of blood and gore; rather, they took you to the edge and let your imagination fill it in. Vincent Price and Ray Milland starred in so many. My friends and I would go to double features for $.50 cents ($.25 per movie). Godzilla or King Kong didn't scare me. I always felt sorry for the creatures who were being shot at.
By Andrea Corwin about a month ago in Writers
Through the Eyes of Bill Bixby. Top Story - September 2026.
Link to the Challenge: Thank you for the Challenge, Annie. I may forgive you one day. I had quite a few fears as a child. It is not worth my time listing all of them here, but I count my father, the odd bully, death, and the possibility that I just did not belong to the family I was with as a large part of the list. It was so bad that I reached the point, when we moved to the suburbs, that I could watch any horror film by myself and barely feel any fear (my mother wondered how I could sit in our basement on a Friday night watching some of the best years of Wes Craven and John Carpenter). To me, they were just cartoonish fantasies after everything else I faced and thought of.
By Kendall Defoe about a month ago in Writers
