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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
his version
The long benches were apolstered in rough pink, a deep pastel. I passed my grandmother the tiny spiral notebook from her purse, a grid of dots already drawn.

We'd stand,
and sit (more)
you don't have a choice.
they're people.
all the blobs
          slag around
Leaving words like graffiti on my hands, I've grown tired of it. I'm tired of your snarky comments, your back-handed compliments, and most of all, I'm tired of you.

There's always a time when you bounce away and then crawl back in, and each time I let yo(more)

He is the man with wings, laid low by a collision with power lines and burned nastily across his nose.  His night vision ruined in the encounter, he no longer flies in the dark, and for fear of being spotted, never by day, either.  Earthbound, he mopes and wiles aw(more)
Mara paused. She shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the horizon. A light wind licked the tips of the long grass gently, tickling her fingers. Under other circumstances, it might have been peaceful.

The army had ridden out a fortnight ago. The soldiers were beleaguered from(more)
you have up to 300 words. what will you say?They used to put Post Toasties box tabs in their shoes when they walked a hole through the bottom.
But Grandma never knew she was poor.
She felt the Grapes of Wrath was just a tad bit dramatic.
Sleep lifted quickly and I found myself lying awake in a dark room. I could have looked at the clock to check the time, but somehow I could already sense the hour. This was the hollow, weightless time when the night had long passed but the morning had yet(more)
After several hours dicking around, she aimed toward her homework assignment. But first! a type trigger.
We sprawled, faces to the mats as Margaret described the whole of the needle. The whole is a tiny point along my spine, between the shoulder blades on whichever side I'm stretching to itch-- now I can't stop thinking about it!
I sought the crone who inhabited the hut by the blackwater ditches.  Hunching like a rabbit, she listened intently as I stated my business.  She nodded, then took the money from my outstretched hand, replacing it with the cure, or rather, the recipe for the cure, scribbled in ebony ink on(more)
gatlin was decaying: a quick death, pulling skin from his bones and shredding the lean muscle and flesh on his forearms and calves, a tempting mess of damp tissue hidden underneath gucci and chanel and the crisp, clean-line-no-iron-never-seen-the-floor sharpness of his linen pants, bled red, all the way through,(more)
I work in a retail plant nursery or, if you prefer, a garden center.  We sell plants, pots, rakes, shovels, dirt, mulch, etcetera.  In the month of August, we are slow, since the daily temperature stays more or less fixed in the mid-nineties, and only the adamant or the ignorant garden(more)
"This isn't your home."
Issei stares at the meadows, listening to the voice at his ear as he watches the pink fields of flowers.
"Of course it is," he says, rolling his eyes mock-dramatically. "You're my home."
Takahiro bursts out laughing and Issei turns to smile back at him.(more)
Open windows
Slamming doors
Empty bottles
Cold floors
Sleepless nights
Teary eyes (more)
"I would," she said. "I really would. If I died first, I mean."

"That's grim, isn't it?" I asked.

'I'll haunt you..." she sang, her voice lilting pleasantly. "I'll haunt you when I'm gone... you'll never love again..." Her singing turned to laughter at this last part.(more)