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Days turn to weeks, I hate to admit it but I’m getting use to this Hell. In the odd bit of free time I lay down in my prison bed. Blanket still wrapped around me, the bastards still haven’t thought of treating us right even with having to get a new secretary for the home office.

“Yousef some of the guys are looking to try organise a campaign for better treatment. They are looking you to give the ok.” Says Harry charging into our cell, looking only Yousef guess the Marxist-Leninist are going it alone then.

Yousef gets up saying “I’ll be down now in a minute.” He looks at me asking “Do you want to come along?”

Harry coughs intervening “With respect comrade it is a Revolutionary Labour party meeting, no Solidarity Ultra’s allowed.”

I lift up my hand to wave him off “Take the lead comrade, you know where we proper leftist are if you need help. Give my best to Jason at lock up.”

Harry heads off not amused with my teasing at all and leaving as he leaves Yousef says “Don’t be mean to the guy he’s only the messenger. I’ll be glad to hear your pan-leftist solution when I come back.”

I laugh sticking my thumb up, time to try get some sleep. There ain’t no rest for the wicked, a knock on the door I look up to see Will “What’s going on with the tankies.”

I lay back down replying “Not that it’s any of my business but I think their doing some kind of campaign. Better treatment for prisoners, maybe they are trying like you Trots to become the screws instead of abolishing the system like us anarchist.”

“Did Trotsky not call the police and by extension screws bourgeoisie class traitors of fascism.” Reasons Will lying against the cell door. Typical of the trots to come out with stuff like that as if they were quoting scripture.

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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 Part 1, Chapter 8 Part 2, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

FYI: This story is also being posted under the same title on Wattpad. If you find that reading experience more comfortable, feel free to head over there.

A teenage boy and his mother, living in the outer ring of town, were driving home along the cold, quiet streets of black tar and electric lamps, their radio pumping forth the weak radiance of cheerful pop music against the dread that perpetuated the midnight hours. As they rounded the corner for their street, one lamp flickered with a reddish orange from above, though was left unnoticed.

“Whatever,” muttered the son, shadows licking at the beams of the headlights “I still don’t see why we had to stay so long”

“It’s important to be polite, that’s why” stated his mother with a soothing tone, pulling up their driveway.

“If you say so” blurted the son, bubbling with sarcasm as he eyed the front porch. “Does the porchlight look right to you”

His mother shut off the car and glanced for the front door. “We’ll have to replace it” she informed calmly as she opened her door to remove herself.

“Alright,” cheered the son, opening his door “I’ll go unlock the door, if you can handle the bags” as he rushed ahead.

“Thank you, Sean” replied his mother, lovingly, moving to the rear of the car. Quietly popping the trunk with the key fob, she retrieved numerous bags of drinks and leftover food. He was a good kid, at times. Breathing audibly, she lugged the bags to the porch, where the door was closed, no Sean in sight. He probably went inside already.

She jiggled the knob, and found it still locked. The orange light of the dying porch bulb waned lightly, casting flickering shadows across the yard.

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This is an exercise I did (almost a year ago wow) on making writing “cinematic”. Apparently the only way I know how to make ambiance is with creepy stories, so I figured I’d post it now with Halloween just around the corner. Hopefully I can get the time to write soon and post something new!

The building was pockmarked and colored the off yellow of used-to-be white washed, despite being built by the lord only a few months ago. The night’s dark hid the worst of the scarred walls, but it could not hide the shape of broken shutters flanking the window. The window was low, low enough for a child to reach and pull themselves through. And that was exactly what a child made to do.

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Epiphanies: 1

You want him but he will never want you. How many times have you tried to catch his eyes? Remember how brown they looked? You thought they were pretty. You exhausted yourself trying to sit near him but no matter how near you are, it always felt like he was miles away.

Remember how you waited for him to wake up because he was sleeping in the chair where you placed your bag on? It was getting late but you ignored the thought of getting scolded at home because you didn’t want to disturb him.

Remember the last time he ever called your name out? You were holding his prop and your performance was just moments away. The venue was filled with noises, frantic calls for performers, but you could hear him very clearly.

Remember your graduation day? He was two seats away from you. And it was the last time you ever saw him in person.

Remember the days after that? Everytime you went to a public place, you always hoped that you’d run into him. Just one look. You wrote poems about him. Composed tweets about him. Tried reaching out to him. He ignored you. Left you on “delivered”. You continue to greet him on his birthday. He’d say thanks. You eventually get tired of receiving the same reply so you stopped greeting him. You obviously still want to. You went from constantly checking his twitter and instagram to just seeing him across your feed. But his effect on you never changed. You thought you already moved on but once you discovered he had a girlfriend, you’re breaking again. You had too many heartbreaks from him but why does you heart race whenever you think of him? Why him? Why can’t you fall in love with other guys? Why can’t you fall out of love from him? Why can’t you understand that his silence was your closure?


He will never see you like the way you see him. He never caught feelings for you. He only saw you as a friend maybe a parasite that mooches off of him. You remembered every single moment you spent around him but he barely noticed you there. He gets annoyed at your constant attempts of contacting him. He never had to move on from you. He was never yours and he will never call you his.

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It was not a good morning. She had overslept, misplaced important items and also forgotten to make her lunch the day before. As a consequence of all of this she was late, and this was making her stressed.

Scrambling down the path - still doing up her shirt and with a piece of toast in her mouth, as-per regulations for those running late - she remembered that she had left her phone on the kitchen table.

Spitting curses she turned on her heel to hustle back and grab it only to find that her house had vanished. Disappeared. Puffed away without a trace. All that remained was the imprint on the ground. Even the utilities had been neatly severed, the gaping pipes sealed.

All was quiet.

“What,” she said.

But this changed nothing.

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The Dragon Around The Corner (work in progress)
With the morning came the very urgent need for coffee.
Noreen had not gotten much sleep the night before. And she was a dragon, she needed a lot of sleep. She liked sleeping.
If it was up to her, she would’ve slept the whole winter. That was what dragons normally did.
And bears. And some other animals, too.
But Noreen was not a bear. And at the moment, she was not a dragon, either.
No, she was a human.
A human with a job, and a need for coffee. And food.
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Hebe and Ro(You guys will understand in a month or so)
Hebe: *curses a baby because she is drunk on ambrosia*
Ro: *needs to catch that babies soul and the curse prevents that* How do we get rid of this curse?
Hebe: *confused on the fact that she doenst know what curse is even on the baby* Don't know
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Ziyan edecekler sırf ona birşeyler bırakmak için bileklerini keserek doldurduğun sayfaları; bir paçavra gibi atacaklar alnına astığın intihar saatindeki kirli dakikaları. Susmayacaklar, kelimeleri ile zihnini, tırnakları ile boğazını tırmalayacaklar.

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pheitaText

We have young Liz and Sandra again, this time with Lillianne. Just a funny little piece. 

Have fun. 

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A battlefield lay before her. Actually, it was her apartment, but she could only call it a battlefield. Empty packages of chips, chocolate, cookies and other snacks lay around everywhere, along with empty pizza boxes and countless empty beer and wine bottles.
Sandra sighed with rolling eyes.
“Do I have to do everything here alone,” she asked herself and began to clean up.
The next time Liz and Lillianne came to a movie night, she would certainly insist that they help clean up the next morning.
She was just about to remove the first corpses of their battle when the doorbell rang. In the expectation that it was one of the neighbors, Sandra went to the door. The bigger the surprise when the two perpetrators stood in front of her with fresh coffee from Starbucks and two big bags.
Without words Liz pressed a Venti cup into her hand.
“White chocolate mocha with extra espresso,” Liz just grinned.
“And the bags?”
“Treats for breakfast. Or rather brunch,” added Lillianne with the same broad grin, “But first we should get rid of yesterday’s atrocities.”
Sandra tried to keep up in her thoughts. When had the two actually got up? Originally they had spent the night on the pull-out couch in the living room.
“Both sound like a plan. Let’s get started.”
“Before the carefree days are gone.”
Lilianne’s dramatic streak was sometimes amusing.
“Honey, it’s only the next semester that starts. Not the end of your life. Unlike you, I don’t have a semester break.”
“I know, that’s why we brought breakfast. You need to be fit for tomorrow.”
With that, Lillianne walked past her and put her bag in the kitchen.
“Sometimes she confuses me,” Sandra confessed.
“Me too, but it doesn’t matter.”
Laughing, she followed Liz into the kitchen. For a second Sandra looked behind her and then decided that coffee was more important.

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    @captainpenguin-fly​​​​​​​​​​​ @merigreenleaf​​​​​​​​​​​ @adie-dee​​​​​​​​​​​ @petrolstationflowers​​​​​​​​​​​ @mouwwie​​​​​​​​​​​ @writinginslowmotion​​​​​​​​​​​ @chris-the-dragonslayer​​​​​​​​​​​ @nana-writes​​​​​​​​​​​ @viawrites-andacts​​​​​​​​​​​ @bookishdiplodocus​​​​​​​​​​​ @cometworks​​​​​​​​​​​  @elenajohansenauthor​​​​​  

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12am. Midnight. A brand-new day had begun once again in darkness. It didn’t feel any newer to Arin. It felt the same to him. Another day in the seemingly eternal year. Was it Tuesday today? Or was it Wednesday? Did it even really matter? Did any of it anymore?

He was awake, as usual. The lonely moon was rising to the east. He could see it from a tainted window. It looked like a white blot in the dark abyss. Stars were rarely visible in the city sky. It was a bleak canvas of darkness. A lot like the hustling life that teemed on its streets.

Picking up a half-drunk coffee mug, he walked into the kitchen. The house was eerily silent and dormant at night. Over the past few weeks, he had come to like the silence. It felt soothing in contrast to the events of the day. At night, he could do anything he wanted. There was no plan, no schedule, no deadline to meet. He was truly living every solitary second. Like drinking coffee in the middle of the night.

He didn’t have to drink it. He just liked the aesthetic of it. To sit under the moon alone with coffee and a story. He liked that idea. He had to write it down; for yet another prose he would never complete. His laptop was overflowing with ‘sample’ proses and stories left halfway; mostly because he lost inspiration or was hit by another one. The smell of coffee wafted throughout the house as he stirred it in the mug. Roasted beans, he would have preferred those. Unfortunately, the only coffee he could afford was instant. Could people be awakened by caffeine through air? It seemed unlikely. I should know that.

Back to work. A thick book lay open on his desk, waiting to be touched. He had barely gotten any work done that day. Lounging about his room took up more time than he liked to admit, even to himself. It had been like this for some time now. He was hung up on a productivity block. He just had to find the right way to remove it. Forcing himself to read the first line; with great mental effort, he dropped his head on the desk. the book was cold. It smelled fresh and chemical. It was synthetic but, in a pleasant way. It wasn’t pleasant enough to motivate him to study. He took in a deep breath and sat up straight.

For the longest time that he could remember, he had been a good student. However, for the past few months, things hadn’t been easy. New college, new friends, different teachers, different subjects. Everything had changed suddenly. Change was not something he was comfortable with. Especially if it came announced. He had struggled with talking with new people all his life. A small circle of friends had been his only source of worldly exposure. Now, he had to deal with changing his circle of friends, or rather, making a new one.

1am. The clock seemed to run faster now. The caffeine was making him tick. He couldn’t sit anymore so, he walked around the room. It was a small room. He could go from end to end in three long strides. Those three strides were the most confident steps he took all day. He felt unbeatable in those three steps. He loved doing that; taking a turnabout the room. After a while, he felt dizzy walking around in circles. The bed looked quite cozy right about then.

No. he had to finish that chapter. He had to. Reaffirming his will onto himself, he sat back down. After what felt like an eternity, he got through with half the chapter. The notebook beside him was finally inked. The textbook was finally penciled in. It felt good. So good that, he decided to watch a movie.

2am. He couldn’t decide which movie. They all seemed daunting. It was quite hilarious that he thought watching a movie was a challenge, a tryst he had to complete. It was taxing on his mind to watch or read new materials. It made him anxious. It was like taking a turn which wasn’t wrong but, you don’t know where it led.

He shut the laptop. It was useless trying. He knew he would not watch anything after fifteen minutes of browsing. Like he never did. the outside world was asleep he thought. So silent. The night had grown brighter then. The moon was shining and the stars were visible too. He felt a cold blanket creeping up on his mind.

He closed his eyes shut. Furrowed his eyebrows. Held onto the cold floor. The tears were welling up inside his eyelids. he could feel them fighting their way out. Another battle for another night. His head was hurting now. Because of the crying or because of the thinking he couldn’t tell. He held it in his hands and wept. His soft sobs were like daggers to the quiet night. He wept alone, quietly. Like the silent night.

3am. The ceiling was awfully bare he thought. Laying on his bed, he wished he had put up those glow-in-the-dark stickers up there. Something to look at when he awoke from a terrible nightmare. He wanted to look at stars from his bed. Constellations he had never seen. Just look at them while he drifted to sleep.

His eyes hurt from the crying. They were probably blood shot. He didn’t bother to check in the mirror. The bed was too hospitable to leave. He just wanted to lie in it, with a noisy head and puffy eyes. His eyelids began drooping. The room got darker as he disconnected from reality. Sleep came, unfortunately, after a fight with temporary dizzy trance. He didn’t want to sleep. He never wanted to. Sleeping meant he would have to wake up and it would be a different day. A different day to live the exact same way. Sleep was funny like that.

A gentle cool breeze is the last thing he would remember the next day. He slumbered reluctantly and uneasily. A half-finished coffee mug sat on his desk. Unbothered by his life. Just waiting for another night.

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Genre: romance I erotica I adult fiction

Word count: draft 1: 955 draft 2: 1644

Chapters: 16/?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, name calling, throat grabbing, PTSD, spanking, choking, roleplay, oral (male/female), unprotected sex, mention of violence, alcohol, death, grief, car crash, explosion, blood, head trauma, slapping (non sexual)

FEEDBACK IS LOVE

Don’t forget you can get early access on Patreon, or buy me a ko-fi if you liked this xx

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