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Daily Writing Prompt: Write yourself into a corner. Impossible situations. No way out. 

Mama – Lil’ Demarcus, what’s this?

Son – That’s my journal. What are you doing with it?

Mama – I was cleaning your room and it fell off your desk and landed on this page. What’s all this nasty stuff in here?

Son- I didn’t write that. 

Mama – It’s only me and you in the house. Did your imaginary friend write it?

Son – I mean, I wrote it, but that’s Bankroll Fresh don’t. He’s a rapper. I was trying to learn the lyrics. 

Mama – I don’t want you listening to mess like this. I’m about to google these words to see if you telling the truth, and if you not, you getting a whooping. I’m going to investigate this diary further. You in timeout until I get back. 

Son – It’s a journal, mom. 

Mama – Get your ass in the corner!

39 minutes later …

Mama – Demarcus … 

Son – Mama, mama, please don’t hit me with that hammer, I’m sorry! 

Mama – Get out the corner. 

Son – Mama, please!

Mama – I said get out the corner. 

Son – Okay, please don’t hit me.

Mama – (hits wall repeatedly with hammer)

Son – Mama …

Mama – You wrote this for me?

Son – Yeah, I was gone give it to you for your birthday. I wasn’t done with it. I need to add some more parts to it. I just needed a break ‘cause I spent 2 days on it. 

Mama – (hits wall with hammer) I will never put you in the corner again. 

Son – That’s nice and all, but mama you didn’t have to be so dramatic. You know we Sims right? You could have just told our God to use the camera view with no walls. 


Constrained Writing Prompt: Tell a tragedy in 30 words. No more. No less. 

Tucking white sheet under chin saying goodnight. 

Covering face with white sheet saying goodbye. 

I read bedtime stories with smile in voice. 

I read eulogy with a tear in voice.

1% Earth

After installing the latest iOS update a prompt notified me I can now check the battery percentage of my Bluetooth devices. As I go to toggle it off because I don’t own any compatible technology, I see “Earth.” Out of curiosity I tap the name. It says 1%. Then another prompt alerts me, “You are the first person to connect to Earth and it’s up to you to save the world. You have 5 minutes to do so. Disconnecting is disabled.” Then a countdown began. I let out a huge laugh as a cue to draw out whoever nearby was screwing with me. I look left. I look right. No one came out of hiding. I look down, and my feet are not touching the ground. That’s a Coldplay lyric.

It’s Halloween, and I’m an astronaut. 

I try to land by exerting force through my lower body. I kick the air. I bend my knees. I wiggle my toes. I squat. I even fart. None of that shit is working! I think to myself to take off my spacesuit to fall, but the thought was immediately squashed as I remembered it took me 3 hours to get into it, so I know it will take me the same amount of time to get out of it.

2 minutes and 37 seconds remaining.

I’m floating in one space. I either need to go down and save the world with Will Smith, or go up where Otis Blackwell is before the Earth turn into a great ball of fire.

Life isn’t fair. I tried going down. It’s only right I try going up. I sway side to side. I throw my hands in the air and wave ‘em like I just don’t care. I repeatedly shrug my shoulders. I put my back into it. Shit, am I trying to go up or am I dancing? Shit, I should’ve never brought up that fucking song!

60 seconds left.

As I float in one spot I said to myself, ‘I was gone stop procrastinating tomorrow because it’s the 1st of the month.’ I went up. I said something else similar. ‘I was gone start on my novel tomorrow and finish it in 30 days.’ I skyrocketed. ‘I wasn’t gone wait until January. It was gone be a new year new me tomorrow.’ That sentence was a stratospheric success. It saved my life. I barely got the last syllable out. As I was ascending everything else in the air was descending. Planes, birds, buildings, that pie in the sky.

My tears couldn’t put out the fire that was burning my family and friends alive.

I will need a new planet. I will need to re-populate.

What rhymes with penis? Let’s just hope their asses look like Serena’s.