*Magnify*
    March     ►
SMTWTFS
     
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2000730-Endurance-Challenges/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/4
Rated: 18+ · Book · Contest · #2000730
Contains my entries for all things endurance on WDC
Home to my entries for endurance challenges. *Wink*

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
Previous ... 1 2 3 -4- 5 ... Next
October 3, 2015 at 9:19pm
October 3, 2015 at 9:19pm
#861692
Required: Contest Round 1: Protagonist Background Story ▼

Write a story about your protagonist that takes place outside of your novel. Make your readers relate to him or her in such a way that we would be devastated if he or she were to experience conflict (which, ultimately, sometime in November, he/she will.) The object of the contest is to make your judges root for your protagonist!


I waited for six songs, or two cigarettes, depending on how you like to measure your life. The music vibrated through the floor, climbing my boots and creeping all the way into my organs where they rattled to the beat. I might not have been dancing on the outside, but my insides definitely were.

I saw her then, finally, pushing her way through a poorly formed mosh pit. She could’ve easily just gone around, but then she wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to physically move people out of her way, would she? See, there comes a point in your life where there are so few chances to physically manhandle other human beings. Concerts provided that outlet for eternity.

We met up in the middle of the room, lips locking as her arms flung around my neck. Her pink hair scratched against my cheek, but smelled like strawberries, so I let it stay that way until we pulled apart. Just as Jane opened her mouth to speak, the band started again. The lead singer, drunk as fuck, promised this would be their last song, but I was almost positive he assured us of the same thing two songs ago.

Still, we bumped and danced along with the song we’d never heard before and would never hear again. I like the nowhere bands, the ones that grab you by the throat and scream in your face, then push you to the ground and escape into the night never to be seen again. There was something mysterious about it and I always thought about those shitty dive bands on the way home from shows.

I’d picture them excited and sure that this was their big break. They’d undoubtedly talk about the awesome sound quality and hot girls with their tits bouncing in the front row, but we all knew where they’d really end up. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to picture it. I refused to see those young, lean guys as middle-age men with beer bellies poking out as they rocked out in their garage when their bitchy wives allowed them to. They would undoubtedly be the embarrassment of their equally ungrateful children and spend years waiting for that ‘big’ promotion that never quite came to fruition.

They were safe in my mind though, dancing through their youth straight up to the big stage with hundreds of thousands of screaming fans singing their lyrics back to them. At the very least, the guitarist would discover his deep love for cooking and become a well-liked chef and restaurant owner in his own community. People would tell visitors, “Aw man, you gotta try Tony’s, best pizza you’ll have in your life.”

I let Jane pull me to the back of the room, out into the cold of the night and scream, “Evan! That band sucks dick. Can I bum a smoke?”

Disoriented from the lights and loud music, I fumble for my cigarettes and pull the last one out. I was saving that for the ride home, but who could resist glittering eyes and a smile that lit up beneath a full moon sky?

I fall in love with random people who walk by, laughing or stopping to take selfies in front of the venue. I’m a blind pendulum swinging between the empty shell of my past life and the romanticized thought of taking someone home, but then I remember my studio apartment with stained carpet and no furniture. I convince myself that none of them deserve me anyway, but quietly kick at the cracks in the sidewalk where the bastard grass grows where it doesn’t belong. Or maybe the bastard sidewalk grows where it doesn’t belong.

“We should get of here?” she suggests and I look back toward the red, smoke-filled room of the venue as someone else escapes. The noise hits me in the face like a headache waiting to happen, but I paid a whole eight dollars for my ticket.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I agree, but take the time to watch her toss my last cigarette, half-smoked and perfectly tempting. But then I think about how strange it would be to pick up her half-smoked cigarette off the dirty ground and smoke it. Some people have the forethought to think of this sort of thing, to hold back on their impulses.

I am not one of these people, so I reach down and brush off the filter before sticking it in my mouth and put it to my lips. I watch the cherry light up as I inhale. “Still lit,” I say with a smile, bringing it away from my face as smoke escapes with my words.

“Ew, Evan. That’s dirty!” she exclaims incredulously.

“What? Smoking? Yeah, filthy habit. I’ll stop someday.” I see her eyeing me wearily and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what she’s thinking. I start walking ahead of her, still smoking my cigarette. It is mine, after all. I throw my head back in her direction. “You coming?” I see her shake her head as if she’s trying to physically shake away her thoughts before she makes quick strides to catch up.
October 2, 2015 at 8:32pm
October 2, 2015 at 8:32pm
#861560
Required: Protagonist Profile-

Complete a character profile of your protagonist. Include detailed information such as name, age, physical attributes, occupation, education, culture, religion, family, relationship status, personality, likes, dislikes, strengths, weakness, motivations and desires. The point of this exercise is for you to get to know your character inside and out before you write your novel. If you don't know your character, how can you expect it of your readers? Flesh out your pre-story character in detail. Keep in mind that your protagonist will grow in some way during your story. Add the profile to your character database (if applicable.)

Name: Evan Jonah Riley

Background
Birthday: February 8- Aquarius
Place of birth: Chicago, IL
Parents: Nolan and Eliza Riley
What was important to the people who raised him: His parents most cherished family time and enjoying each other's company. His father worked as a firefighter and his mother worked as a family therapy counsellor as he grew up.
Siblings: Had older sister who passed away when he was a child
Economic/social status growing up: He had a comfortable upbringing in the suburbs and never went without, but his family was middle-class.
Ethnic background: His father is Irish and his great grandparents immigrated from Ireland during the great famine. His mother is German and English descent.
Places lived: Has lived in the same house since he was two years old. Lived in a townhouse before that.
Current address and phone number: Downtown Chicago
Education: Working toward his bachelor's degree in psychology
Favorite subject in school: science
Special training:
Jobs: medical transcriptionist
Salary: 13,000/yr (part-time)
Travel: Hasn't traveled much except for some family vacations as a young child

Friends: His best friend is Shannon Fitzgerald. They live together in an apartment with a mutual friend, Taylor Sato. They've been best friends since they can remember and grew up in the same suburb.
How do people view this character: They think he is quiet and a little bit strange, but generally polite and smart from what they can tell.
Lives with: Shannon and Taylor, his friends
Fights with: Generally doesn't fight with people, but does have a lot of disagreements with Dr. Albright, who was close to his mother and was a therapist for both of them after his father and sister died
Spends time with: Spends most of his time with Shannon or Dr. Albright, but also goes to school and works with Dr. Albright
Wishes to spend time with: Margot, after he meets her. Wishes he could spend time with his mother and get to know his father
Who depends on him and why: Shannon depends on him as a lifetime friend and Margot does after he meets her because she knows that he could be the key to proving/solving what happened to her mother
What people does he most admire: He doesn't admire people because they have mostly let him down. He doesn't see people as something to be admired.
Enemies: None
Dating, marriage: No
Children: No
Relationship with God: Identifies vaguely as a Catholic, but doesn't go to church

Overall outlook on life: That it is something to be experienced and made the most of
Does this character like himself: It depends on the day
What, if anything, would he like to change about his life: He wants to move on with his life and be happy
What personal demons haunt him: His dark past follows him like a dark shadow
Is he lying to himself about something: He refuses to believe that his past is holding him back
Optimistic/pessimistic: Depends on the topic and day
Real/feigned:
Morality level: Generally high morals
Confidence level: Somewhat high confidence with weak spots
Typical day: He goes to school a few times a weeks and works in Dr. Albright's office a couple times a week too.

Physical appearance
Body type: lean, average height
Posture:
Head shape:
Eyes: green eyes
Nose:
Mouth:
Hair: light brown hair, tapered with medium-length side fringe
Skin: tan
Tattoos/piercings/scars: nose and helix piercings
Voice:
What people notice first: eyes
Clothing: casual dresser, t-shirts and jeans with converse or vans. button ups and khakis are formal wear
How would he describe himself: Thoughtful, kind, shy, creative
Health/disabilities/handicaps: Has been in therapy a lot from childhood when his father and sister died, and continues to go on a regular basis

Characteristics
Personality type (choleric, sanguine, phlegmatic, melancholy): melancholic
Strongest/weakest character traits: Positive traits- Observant, resourceful, and empathetic. Negative traits- Impulsive, moody, and stubborn
How can the flip side of his strong point be a weakness: Being too observant can keep you too preoccupied in your mind. Being too empathetic can make it easy for people to take advantage of you
How much self-control and self-discipline does he have: It depends on the moment and situation. Can sometimes be indecisive and other times too impulsive
What makes him irrationally angry: When people pick on other people
What makes him cry: Talking about his family
Fears: Afraid of commitment and abandonment
Talents: Memorizing random facts, quotes, and information
What people like best about him: That he's honest and trustworthy

Interests and favorites
Political leaning: Not interested in politics
Collections:
Food, drink:
Music: Likes blues and classic rock
Books: Likes nonfiction and memoirs
Movies: Drama, horror, and mystery
Sports, recreation: Liked sports as a kid, but hasn't been interested since his father died
Did he play in school: Played baseball and basketball
Color: Blue
Best way to spend a weekend: Going out with friends and experiencing new things
A great gift for this person: An antique of some sort with a cool backstory
Pets: None
Vehicles: Doesn't have one, uses public transportation, walking, bike, and friends
What large possessions does he own (car, home, furnishings, boat, etc.) Doesn't have many possessions
and which does he like best:

Idiosyncrasies: Counts everything- steps, cars, tiles... Touches everything to feel fabric, material, texture
Laughs or jeers at: Doesn't typically make jokes, but is somewhat sarcastic
Ways to cheer up this person: Taking him out of his element to a museum or some place new
Ways to annoy this person: Be unsympathetic or too peppy
Biggest trauma: Losing his family
What does he care about most in the world: Protecting himself from future trauma
If he could do one thing and succeed at it, what would it be: Be a psychiatrist to help others
What do you love most about this character: His complexity and backstory
Why will the reader sympathize with this person right away: Because he is reasonable and easy to relate to
How is the character ordinary or extraordinary: There are many layers to his personality
How is his situation ordinary or extraordinary: His backstory is very rare.



Bonus: Protagonist Voice-

Have your protagonist introduce themselves to us in first person using their own voice. Brainstorm ways to make their voice unique. Add the introduction to your character database (if applicable.)

Well, what can I say? How about you ask me something? You want to play Twenty Questions? There's nothing much to see here, honestly. My name is Evan and I'm probably about as boring as my name. Hold on, I'm being modest again. Alright, I'm interesting in all the wrong ways. If I told you who I am, you would probably start playing with your phone in uncomfortable silence too, wouldn't you? Who wants to hear about someone's father and sister dying at the same time? Does anyone want to hear about the horrific years that follow? The downward spiral into alcohol and prescription cocktails? Why thank you, Doctor, I'll be back in four weeks. Let's get exciting. Let's talk about being the one to find your mother dead from a suicide and wondering how in the fuck she could have put you through that.

Or let's not. Let's talk about David Lynch and how his mystifying films can suddenly make perfect sense in the surrealism of your own life. You play Frank Booth. No, I'll play Frank Booth, villain of Blue Velvet, you fucking fuck. I'm kidding. Hey, did you hear about that restaurant with the potato ice cream on Hubbard? Wanna go?
October 1, 2015 at 5:23pm
October 1, 2015 at 5:23pm
#861455
Required: Identify the following:

(1) Protagonist(s). Who is(are) your main character(s)?
Main character is a college-age male named Evan Riley. His counterpart, another main character, is a female of roughly the same age named Margot DeWitt.

(2) Goal(s). What do they want?
Both of their mothers have died and they have different goals in the beginning. Evan is attempting to get over his dark past. Margot believes there is something more sinister behind the death of her mother, so her goal is to prove this. She also believes that Evan's mother may have more behind her death as well, so she is trying to convince Evan of this.

(3) Conflict. What is keeping them from their goal?
They want to know what happened to their mothers, but they are fighting to know whether or not their suspicions could be true or if they are feeding into each other's mental illnesses.

(4) Antagonist(s). Who(what) is creating the conflict?
Other than the possibility of mental illness, Dr. Joseph Albright is creating conflict and acts as antagonist.


Bonus: Identify the theme or moral of the story. Brainstorm ways you could resolve your conflict within the confines of the theme.

The theme is coming-of-age and contains a journey of loss and discovery. Within the confines of my theme, Evan and Margot could find out the truth of what happened to their mother which may or may not be the initial ideas of Margot. They could also end up being labelled as crazy and not finding out the truth, if their is any, behind their mothers' deaths.
September 26, 2015 at 9:00pm
September 26, 2015 at 9:00pm
#861028
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

"Goddammit, Pete. Would you pay attention? I've been talking for five minutes and you're just over there daydreaming about larking again."

"LARPing, Meredith, LARPing. L-A-R-P-I-N-G," he spelled it out for his angry wife.

"I don't give a fuck what it's called. Did you get the dinner rolls after work?"

No response from the man as he wrings his pudgy hands, mind lost once again.

"Pete!" Meredith screams, spittle hitting his face.

"What? What's the big idea?"

"Did. you. get. the. dinner. rolls." Her enunciation is impeccable and still...

"The what?"

Meredith shoves a pile of books of the dining room table, glaring at the seat where her worthless husband waits for his dinner. "I asked you to get dinner rolls on your way home from the office." Her voice is too calm for comfort, the quiet before the storm.

"I... must have forgot?"

"That's it!" she screams stomping out of the room.

Pete relaxes at the sight of her leaving the room, but her loud footsteps return only seconds later. She appears like a wooly mammoth all wrapped in her hideous cotton robe. He looks at his wife with a perplexed expression as she slams a manilla envelope down in front of him.

"What's this?" he asks.

"That, my loving husband, is my key to freedom. I was going to save it for your birthday next week, but I just can't stand it a moment longer. Go ahead, open your present." Meredith crosses her arms, satisfied with the situation that is about to unfold.

Pete fumbles clumsily to get the package open. It seems after working twenty years in an office, he would've mastered manila envelopes by this point, but no such luck. The papers inside slide out and scatter across the table.

"Oh great, you big dope." Meredith purses her lips, hand on her hip in utter disappointment.

She gives him a minute to gather the contents and look through them. When he looks up, she can't help but smile at the distraught look on his face. "D-divorce papers?" he stutters.

"Yeah, bitch! Now you can go LARKing with your buddies all you want!"

And thus ends the marriage.
September 19, 2015 at 11:24pm
September 19, 2015 at 11:24pm
#860485
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

The city was eating itself. Fire blazed through the skyscrapers as we watched from afar, sitting on the hoods of abandoned cars. When the news first broke, we stayed behind, locked inside for days while the news stories flashed across the television and then just stopped altogether. That was before the electricity went out and we made a fire from our books on the dining room floor. The strays took over the neighborhood and we watched them from the attic window, waiting for the right time to scurry across the backyard, through the neighbors' windows to search for more canned food. We talked about running out and eating the pitbulls that stalked in circles, waiting for prey of some sort.

When the internet went out, that's when hell broke loose. The loss of money tracking, the closing of the banks, it was everyone's worst nightmare. The disease wasn't like in the movies though. There were no zombies, living dead, roaming around looking for brains. Instead, there was the inherent evil of humanity, burning and looting their way through the inner cities. We were left alone in the suburbs, for the most part, and when we felt safe enough, we started venturing out at night.

They had all gotten stuck on the freeway system overlooking the city. Their cars had run out of gas or they'd just abandoned them when the robbers came looking for whatever it was they were looking for. We'd lost the news by then, so we made up stories that changed from day-to-day. My theory was that they thought it would all blow over. They thought they'd never get caught for their crimes and a new world order would arise. The city burned in increasing doses. Tonight, it was a brilliant blaze that lifted across the sky and we knew they'd all be out soon, spreading out toward the suburbs. This was our time to escape.

September 12, 2015 at 8:29pm
September 12, 2015 at 8:29pm
#859861
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

The spotlights burned her skin, bringing sweat beads to the surface of her forehead as the audience gives a standing applause. Months of practice have prepared her for this moment, and still, the moment is too emotional too hide. She goes through the motions of standing in line and bowing with the rest of the cast, but above all, she's waiting to speak to her father who is waiting outside the dressing room when she finally walks back stage.

She holds her hand out when she sees him and he pretends that he doesn't know what she's talking about. She rolls her eyes. "Okay, hand them over. You promised!"

He sighs and reaches into his back pocket. "Fine, fine. You win."

He slams the keys down in the palm of her hand and she snatches them away with a shining smile on her face. This meant more to her than the roar of the audience, the sense of accomplishment, or the proof of hard work paying off. These keys symbolized the freedom she had been waiting for since sophomore year.

"You've earned it," her father says, giving her a long embrace. The youngest child is always the most difficult to let go of.

They turn and walk toward the school door's together, exit into the cold air of the holiday season. Stopping as they reach the sleek car, only slightly beat up from its years of use, her father turns to her again. "Just remember: don't text and drive, don't drink and drive, don't do your makeup and drive. In fact, don't drive at all. It highly increases the risk of being decapitated in a car accident or scalping yourself against the pavement when you're projected through the windshield. Here, give me the keys back."
September 5, 2015 at 10:11pm
September 5, 2015 at 10:11pm
#859292
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

Red doors present themselves as escape routes. Fire engine bright and full of false hopes, they appear at the end of overgrown paths where we trip on weeds of the past, arms outstretched as fingers grasp for brass knobs. We present ourselves in innocent ways, lost and relying on a spark to light our way. There's another door in my memory, with light spilling in where the cockroaches crawl through and I close my eyes when I see a shadow on the other side. I've gotten good at pretending to be asleep when the door opens with a low creak and the light filters through the open doorway. Because we all know that some doors disguise black holes, like friendly masks that hide intent.
August 22, 2015 at 9:24pm
August 22, 2015 at 9:24pm
#858099
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

Snow soaked through my shoes as I tripped along the shadowy path. Other searchers kept pace behind me while some had lost it altogether, probably gone back to their trucks before another storm hit. I couldn't blame them though; they were volunteers after all. Plus, this wasn't their son missing- it was mine.

It started 72 hours before, a typical Thursday evening and Joey was expected home by dinner time as always. I'd worked late at the office that night, but got a call around 7:30 saying that Joey hadn't shown up for dinner nearly two hours before. My poor wife's voice was shaking on the other line and, piled under a desk full of paperwork, I had quickly shot down the idea of any harm coming to him. I was sure he'd just stayed out with friends and lost track of time playing basketball at the park.

I tried to stay longer, but I couldn't concentrate after getting off the phone. He had been late before, but he knew to call at this point if he was going to be, and late by two hours? This wasn't like him. I decided to stop by the courts on the way home from work to see if he was there with his friends, but was greeted by the sad sight of leaves blowing across the empty concrete as dusk fell on our small town.

The police were no help the first 24 hours, certain that Joey was just another teenage runaway. Even after the 24-hour point, they did little to help us find him, spending most of their time printing off fliers and stapling them to the light posts around town. They asked us all the basic questions that we had already tried to tell them a hundred times in the first 24 hours.

His mother and I did all the leg work. We called all of his friends, narrowed down the last people to see him, and visited every place we could think he might go in search of him. To make matters, worse, the weather had been hell the entire week with snow storm after snow storm and sub-zero temperatures. My wife and I watched out the window all night long at the wind blowing the snow into little winter tornadoes. There was nothing we could do at 2 in the morning, but we were smart enough to know that no one could survive out there for this long in these temperatures.

We got some information about Joey being seen by two drivers near the woods at the edge of town, somewhere he would have no reason to be. They said he looked fine though, nothing out of the ordinary, just walking alone on the side of the road wearing the sky blue winter coat we had gotten him for Christmas just three weeks before.

We had been searching for an hour and a half when I heard the gasp behind me that made my blood run cold. I turned to see one of the searchers pointing with shaking finger down the hill and followed their gaze slowly, knowing what I was about to see. There at the bottom of the hill, barely in sight was a small piece of aqua fabric poking through the snow.

The next several minutes moved by in slow motion as I stumbled toward the fabric, falling in the snow on hands and knees multiple times as the heavy brush tripped me. Hands gripped the back of my coat, pulling me away from the scene, but I broke free and began digging with my gloved hands through the pure white snow.

Blue. Blue everything. His coat, the skin of frail arm, his lips. It was all blue against the white snow. White and blue mixing together as my body shook and still, searchers attempted to pull me away from my only son, pleading with me to look away. And then there, in the shallow grave his body had hollowed out of snow, I saw the frozen red mixed in with white. I lifted his heavy head and nearly split in half in my hands. I heard my wife's shrill scream behind me where her brother covered her eyes with his arm and tore her in the other direction.

Around us, the world moved quickly, but in that moment, it was just my son and I kneeling in the snow. I was completely unaware of the people running around us, the police officers taping off the scene as I held my son for the last time in his young life. My brain did not attempt to process what was happening and the officers had to drag me away from the scene, three against one before I could contaminate it further.

My wife threw her arms around me, crying into my chest and screamed a pleading question: "How could this happen? Why would he be out here by himself? Did he fall? He fell from the trail? Did he hit his head?"

She had a million questions and I had none. I only had one response: "He didn't fall; he was murdered."
August 21, 2015 at 8:51pm
August 21, 2015 at 8:51pm
#858009
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

Those poor ants never saw it coming, cowering in their little ant hills that they'd spent weeks building. Pacing back in front of their tank, their pudgy owner cracked his knuckles and shook his head, imaginary arguments playing out in his mind. He muttered a response to his school bully, tripping against the worn down carpet before regaining his composure.

"Those bastards. Stupid jock pricks."

He would make them pay. His hands shook with anger as he devised a plot. A school shooting was out of the question. Talk about passé. No, he had to do something none of them would ever suspect. He counted the steps between the walls of his bedroom that kept him trapped like a rat in a cage. Passing by the window, he half-expected to see white lab coats standing three stories overhead, marking his progress with checks on a notepad while nodding stiffly.

Walking back to his ant tank, he thought back to the gift he'd received a few months before for his birthday. His parents had shrugged at his general confusion. Who in the fuck wants an ant farm for their thirteenth birthday? Still, he had diligently set the habitat up, mostly out of obligation to his parents, no matter how shitty their gift.

He watched the black dots scramble inside and thought of the time he'd flown out to see his grandparents and watched the people below shrink to the size of ants upon takeoff. They were like that- scrambling here and there, all moving as if the world revolved around them. That's the problem with people. They're all the most important thing in their own world.

Feeling the anger boil over, he ripped the lid off the tank and forced his fist into through the top, punching the ant hills as the helpless residents scrambled in their cage.

"That's right. Run you worthless parasites," he laughed between gritted teeth, face flushed with heat.

They weren't so different from him, running wall to wall in a panicked frenzy. Just like in life, there was no place to escape and what looked like an exit turned out to be a glass wall. He wondered to himself if they had little ant families. Loving partners with a hoard of innocent children, being separated at that very moment by his pummeling fists.

He decided it was unlikely that their tiny bodies had enough brain space for emotion, but he silently hoped they did. He hoped they cried and screamed, so high pitched even a dog couldn't hear it. He hoped they begged for mercy that would never come, just like he had done time and time again. Please, just let them suffer, he begged to himself in defeat.
August 9, 2015 at 9:14pm
August 9, 2015 at 9:14pm
#856952
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

I’ve seen my life at the bottom of a teacup, steam rolling toward the rim while my head nods in and out through streams of consciousness. In my daydreams, we sip life through neon spiral straws like late-night raves and tinted heart-shaped glasses at a waterpark. We let the water splash on our backs and drip down in cool streams, chlorine mixing with the salt of our sweat.

I woke with a dishrag on my forehead and saw you biting your lip overhead. When I came to, we both laughed it off. Damn, son, close one. I can see your face now, eyes wide and full of nervous excitement, a devious gleam eating away at my resolve. I’m feeling kind of drowsy and I swear I can hear your heart beat from this kitchen floor, fingertips dancing between the cold linoleum tiles.

Smoke curls and burns my eyes from the cement steps of the sidewalk, your house looming in the background, dilapidated and foreboding with loose shutters and broken shingles. We watch the hood girls rip each other’s weaves out and my money’s on the one with the lime kicks and I could go for a margarita or four to wash the night down as sirens scream in the background. It’s an all-in drag-out scene complete with toddlers twirling their hair with their fingers and holding a bottle with their other hand, dressed only in diapers and crying for peace.

But isn’t it just like life to throw itself back in your face? To take your problems and make them dissipate with the realization that someone has it so much worse. The scene inside is now a memory to be rewound and played back at a later date or forgotten completely like all the rest. And there is no teapot full of life, to be simmered and poured out when the begging whistle haunts us. We exist only in the past and future - what we have been and will become.

49 Entries · *Magnify*
Page of 5 · 10 per page   < >
Previous ... 1 2 3 -4- 5 ... Next

© Copyright 2020 Charlie ~ (UN: charlieabney at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Charlie ~ has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password: <Show>
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2000730-Endurance-Challenges/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/4