A prompt from Claudia S. Thank you!
Laurie was like any other person, she had layers, many of them. And if you tried to cut through to those many layers she would probably make you cry.
It wasn’t her tragic backstory (although it could certainly lead a person to tears). It wasn’t the melancholy way she spoke of her teenage years of stubborn independence. No, the tears would most likely be caused by Laurie herself. Some people cover their pain with humour. Laurie was bitingly mean when she needed to be. Keeping people at arm’s length certainly was a terrific way to never reveal her innermost thoughts and desires.
There was a girl with purple hair who sat at the same table at the same time every day.
She was beautiful.
One time her hair had faded to a weird pinkish red but the very next day it was bright purple again, shiny and vibrant against her black coat. Her nails were a matching shade and they clicked delightfully when she tapped out a text.
Just some bite-size stories. The first collection is here.
When the song began playing for the 7th time she knew then that she was indeed in hell. The people around her sang along as if they hadn’t been there the first six times. She just looked to the sky and screamed her frustration.
The beginning was always the weirdest time, so much anticipation and anxiety and impatience all rolled up into a ball of energy trapped in the confined space of the morning ablutions. It was dealt with quickly, too much to get done to waste time on pointless beautifying.
Day one was the day to begin adventures. Day one was the day where the best laid plans either succeed or die.
So this is a little sad for a Sunday evening, sorry about that.
Remember, remember the fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot.
The fifth of November must never be forgot, they say. Well fuck that, because the fifth of November was an icy cold, nightmare of a day that ended in tears and snot and a goddamn headache that throbbed and pulsed.
She didn’t know why crying caused her head to feel as if it was full of lead but as she wiped at her puffy, sore eyes she could feel it beat a pattern behind her forehead.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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