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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.
When you're clutching at your sides trying to keep yourself whole, you're not going to miraculously mend. You'll have to work at it for a while because the pieces inside you don't fit the way they did before; you might have lost a few and replaced them with new(more)
Half-melted vinyl records posing in the trees for a hungover, five o'clock shooting. Some things are only beautiful when you don't actually care.
It starts with a whisper, a ruffle of wind against feathers that cuts through the silence surrounding you.

It triggers something in you, some reaction to the sound wired into your instincts and you know you've been here before. It always starts like this.

"Still not learn(more)
The UFO spun in the air like a pizza thrown high in a new york pizzeria. It spun and it leaned, turning upwards and downwards it looked instable. It let out an odd screeching sound and stopped in front of my car. My grandson and I watched as the(more)
You warble on. Half-melted words reach my ears. I don't want to listen to you any more. I know what you are going to say and it is painful to hear it again. How did we get here?

You're sitting at the table, folding your arms and talking(more)
I once loved a man with the voice of a lark, who one day sold his piano and stopped singing, the absence of his voice sudden and terrifically sad.

"Never again," he said, when pressed. Even his speaking voice was drained of tone. Bombed.

"Why?" I asked.(more)
A 1969 Pontiac Ventura station wagon with over 135,000 miles on the odometer, shot shocks, and shitty brakes really has no business on the road anymore, and I knew it. But I still pushed it.

I went faster and faster, feeling immortal as the balding tires hummed away(more)
Her room is littered with to-do lists. Penned neatly on notebook paper like purple ink. They seem to cover the floor like a snow that has been sitting for years.

The bathroom door is open, a Barenaked Ladies song from the 90s playing from a radio somewhere.  You ca(more)
In focus.
Out of focus.
Rinse, repeat, ad infinitum.
Everything I saw in the hours it took to hit the floor reminded me of High Schooler me, bored in Bio class, fucking with a microscope.
In focus.
Out of focus.
Except what I was looking at now was much(more)
Today, I woke to a warble from outside.

Somehow, I listened on. It was pleasant, really.

It went something like this:
I have never seen this before.

My mother was laughing again, teasing a senseless mind with her voice.  My father was real and somehow his touch became more course though strange without innocence in my eyes.
I feel afraid. I feel afraid and astonished because I have always bee(more)
every morning when i wake up
there are birds outside my window
and they sing to each other often
but the song is never the same

and i wonder if every day they warble out a new tune (more)
War? Bull.
There was a slight warble in my voice, it was as if  my ability to speak had been temporarily transposed on a rolling and rollicking wave. My eyes became unfocused and my vision became the windows of an old station wagon on a summer day minus a working air conditioner.(more)
The warble of his voice was silk against my ear and I hushed a gasp. I could hear the whispers of his bones, their winters, their summers, the girls who'd begged and the girls who'd sung. The tendrils of their lust pricked the hairs on my neck en pointe. (more)