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Over the past year, I defeated a fear of other people, learned the value of clarity and brevity, fought writer's block, and developed pride in my words.

Now I am a writer with a love for onomatopoeias and an affinity for semicolons.

Message to Readers

Any feedback is greatly appreciated!


August 3, 2017

PROMPT: Zoom Out

    He sits with his head leaning against the window, orange streetlights flashing against his face every few seconds. It jostles a bit, aggravating the fresh bruise forming on his cheek. In his lap rests a one-way bus ticket and a pack of licorice, all that the cash in his pocket could afford. He brings a gloved hand up to his face, fingers dancing over the welt and making him wince. Deciding to try and sleep away the pain, he pulls a hood over his head and closes his eyes.
    A worn blue backpack slouches at his feet, seemingly disgruntled at the filth. It's covered in marker and band pins, giving the generic nylon somewhat of a personality. Inside the backpack is a change of clothes and a wallet. The wallet holds nothing but a picture of a young boy and a smiling woman, taken in front of the ocean. The woman's eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and the boy boasts a long forgotten gap-toothed smile.
    He glances down at it briefly, knowing what's inside. A flash of regret hits him, which is quickly chased back into the corners of his mind by anger. He unceremoniously kicks the backpack under his seat.
    A few other passengers sit scattered across the aisles, all avoiding eye contact. They each have their own reason for being there, and no one wants to or cares to know what the person to their left is thinking. However, they are all unified, in a strange way; by the lateness of the hour, the darkness of the night.  The unspoken truth is that they all are running. Nobody boards a bus in the middle of the night for any other reason.
    The bus isn't extraordinary, and neither are the people in it. It's all grey, all tired. Yet it's still alive, in disrepair but not unfixable. It keeps rolling down the highway, doing what it was built to do. The dirty buildings and streets pass in a monochrome blur; eventually becoming a glowing mass in the distance, sticking out of the landscape like a sore thumb. And then.....black. Peace. Freedom.
    Somewhere, many miles away, a nervous woman is on the verge of hyperventilating, fingers struggling to dial the emergency number. Her husband is yelling and punching the wall, an empty bottle of beer rattling on the table.


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1 Comment
  • Tyler Rose

    I like how you "zoomed out" a bit slower than the other pieces, allowing us time to understand and appreciate the surroundings, the situation, and the characters. Not only were you able to hook me from the start, but you held my attention throughout the entre piece. Loved it. Good job dood.

    almost 3 years ago